Scars of Past Lives
by Siakeruu Arrisorra
Summary: The world still spins but everything feels upside down… Warning- Character deaths.
1. The Funeral: Where Angels Fly

The thing Hungary hated most about the funeral was that there was no music.

No, she took that back. The very existence of the funeral… Yes, that was it. The reason that she was here.  
She stepped carefully out of the black cab onto her own land. An ordinary person- one who didn't know who she was- rushed over and opened an umbrella, carefully positioning it over her head to protect her from the rain.  
"I'm fine," Hungary said, but the person insisted.

She let the person stay, then, and walked the short distance to the roofed patio-like place where the burial was to take place. As she stepped under the roof, the person took away the umbrella.

Mostly, the patio was a concrete floor surrounding a patch of earth. In it, a neat hole had alreadybeen dug in the ground, waiting for its nearby occupant. A mound of dirt and a dirty, somewhat rusty shovel lay next to the coffin. Its lid was open, and Hungary could see the body inside.

She stared at it in complete quiet, making no sound. Around her, other mourners held quiet as well. The only other sound was the rain on the roof.

She tried to hold back her tears as she searched Austria's peaceful, silent face.

His cowlick was drooping, one of the few times that it ever was. His eyes were closed, hands folded on his chest. Dressed in his usual blue suit, he looked the same as ever. Someone had tucked a book of sheet music under his right arm, and a plush tomato near his feet. Attached to it was a label written in flowing, neat handwriting- "so he'll never be hungry".

Hungary smiled a little. That would be Italy's work. He was a good person at heart, although he was completely useless. He also knew how to retreat very quickly.

Which had proved useful in these chaotic times of constant war.

* * *

Italy watched the last shovelful of dirt as it flew in a graceful arc into the grave. It was blurry, no more than a brown streak, obscured because of his tears.

Romano glanced at him awkwardly, trying to stay away from his clumsy brother, knowing that he'd start hugging someone if they were too close-

Ah, there he went. Italy was latched onto Germany now, sobbing quietly. Germany looked uncomfortable and surprised, but he didn't shake Italy off, as if he knew that Italy needed comfort.

On Germany's other side, Japan was sitting straight and still. The only thing that betrayed his emotion was a slight trembling of his hands, folded neatly in his lap. He stared straight ahead, trying not to move at all, it seemed. Like he didn't even let himself breathe. Like he wanted to die, too, and leave this horrible, terrible world behind.

* * *

Austria had been the first to fall. His land was razed, towns and cities of innocent people burned down. He had been destroyed, and he had died.  
It had seemed impossible that a country could die, especially like this. Wouldn't Hungary have come to help? Wouldn't Germany or Switzerland or someone, someone nearby helped? Wouldn't they have heard the screams?

The answer was no. Nobody had even noticed until a few days after it happened. There had been a world meeting in America, scheduled for the day after Austria died [although no one had known it at the time]. Hungary, Germany, Italy, and all the others had already left. Austria had stayed an extra day to deal with mysterious threats to his country.

He had never arrived at the meeting.

Besides, things had been- and were- very tense. Hungary and Austria were united, hovering on the edge of a war with Germany and, useless though he was, Italy. Switzerland, of course, stayed neutral, with his sister Liechtenstein. France and England were at it again, with the allies of Canada and America respectively. Russia was trying to take over China, who was also allied with Japan. Korea was allied with the other Asians on the condition that he would gain some more land if they won, although everyone thought that neither would happen. When he found that out, Korea would probably declare war against China, and Japan would back him up.

And that was only the beginning of it all.

It was a confusing time. The Allies and Axis were ripped apart, countries that had never fought before were now bloodthirsty rivals, and worst of all, Italian tanks were now capable of killing.

* * *

A/N: I don't mind if your review is just a quick comment, please, if you have some thought about this please post it. I'd like to see what in general people think. Thanks~


	2. Thoughts of Life: Wineglasses and Pasta

France stared, musing a little, at his wineglass.

It was very pretty, elegant even [everything that he owned was at least mostly pleasing to the eye], but it was the only one of his set of twelve that he had left. The other eleven- its brothers, he thought- had been sold for quite a price to a glassworking master, who studied them and their style [they were getting quite rare], created new designs on other glasses, and sold them to other countries. The creations had helped tide over his economy a little.

But only a little.  
He turned it over in his fingers [no, it was empty, he wasn't a fool]. The light played across the crystal, throwing tiny rainbows everywhere.

"What am I supposed to do?" he said softly. "Ah, you wouldn't understand… It is a matter of the heart and body, neither of which you have…"

His fingers trembled a little and the glass shivered in his hands. "It's been too long…" he whispered. "I don't think this world remembers how to fight. And we need to remember, little rainbow-maker. We need to."

* * *

Italy set down a steaming bowl of pasta with a happy 'Ve~', spooning out the food onto two plates. He slid one over to Germany, then began eating earnestly.

He didn't know how Italy could be so happy these days, although the fact that he didn't fight much was probably a good reason- it gave him less stress. Germany covered for the little Italian most of the time, even though he'd suffered for it.

Across the table was an empty third place, one where Japan would sit if he was with them for dinner. It felt strange being only with Italy after so long, Germany thought. He'd grown so used to being part of a trio that only two felt strange.  
Although Japan wouldn't make much of a difference to the awkward silence that they sat in now. He never initiated a conversation, always eating quickly, then waiting to be spoken to. Sometimes, though, his presence was enough to make the other two feel… hmm… normal. Yes, that was it. In these times of constant war, the three had not had dinner together for a while like they used to- Japan was busy across the world fighting his own wars, and while Italy was always with Germany, he was useless for talking about war strategy. That was the only thing he seemed to discuss these days, anyway. Wars merited a state of constant guard, and he took everything seriously anyway.

Right then, Italy was busy eating his pasta, too preoccupied to talk, even if they'd talked about something like wine, tomatoes [wait, no, that was his brother Romano]… or pasta. Food, that was all Italy was good for.

Germany put his head in his hands, leaving his portion untouched. From past experience, he breathed through his mouth, knowing that if he smelled Italy's cooking, he would eat it. He didn't want to eat. His stomach felt terrible and he'd had horrible headaches for the past few weeks. Once or twice, he had even passed out- thankfully, none of the other countries had noticed or tried to attack then. He had been at his house, and was only out for a few hours.

Germany heard the clink of metal hitting something else- Italy's plate, he thought. Looking up, he saw that he was right. Italy had finished [already?] and was taking his plate to the sink.

"Ve?" he asked. "Germany, why didn't you eat? Does it taste bad? If it does, I can-"

He held up a tired hand. "It's not you. I don't feel like eating."

Italy tilted his head. "I thought you always had to eat during a war. Every country, I thought. Didn't you tell me that during the last big war?"

'Last Big War' meant World War Two. Those were mostly bad memories, ones that he didn't like to touch. Things he'd done when Italy or Japan wasn't there to see… the terrible ways he'd treated his people…

It still bothered him. The whole business of World War Two bothered him. Other countries had the wrong image of him. Hadn't there been times when their bosses were suddenly, strangely evil, forcing them to do evil things? All countries had dark places in their pasts. Germany was no exception.

"Ve? Germany?"

Italy's concerned 've' brought him back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine," he said, a little harshly. "I just didn't feel like eating. I'll eat tomorrow, Italy, don't worry. You should get to sleep or something. Be ready for anything tomorrow."

Italy gave him one last concerned look before clearing away his untouched plate and utensils. Germany got up from the table slowly and headed to his bedroom.

Everything will seem better tomorrow, he said to himself.

Tomorrow.


	3. Plushies and Lead Pipes

China sat on the floor of his study, surrounded by piles of books, pens, ink, and the occasional plushie. His favorite [the one shaped like a cat, which he'd named Shinatty-chan] was perched on his head, the way it always was when he needed to think. He was further equipped with a pen in his right hand and a clipboard on his lap, which had a paper with three columns of figures attached to it.

He was glaring at it with an intense hatred.

"Ai ya," he grumbled. "No, that tax won't work there- and not there, either… Maybe if-"

"CHIINAA!"

The voice was loud, male, and slightly annoying. Interruptions usually didn't bother him too much, but today it made him jump so that Shinatty fell off his head. This was important… He'd given specific instructions that he wasn't bothered. It could only be-

His eyes widened. Already? He'd summoned him half an hour ago…

Wincing a little, he picked Shinatty back up and placed it on his head again, then thought again and hugged it to his chest. He'd need strength for this.

Korea bounded into the room. "Hey, China! I came for the meeting- oh, is that a Hello Kitty?"

China sighed a little, annoyed. "It's Shinatty-chan. Japan gave it to me."

"Knockoff," Korea grumbled. "The only things original he makes are games. And those aren't even original. They were originally my idea. He's such a-"

"The meeting was yesterday," China said, interrupting him. "You sent a representative, remember? It was about supplies and troops."

Korea thought for a second, then nodded. "Sure, of course… I remember now. Anyway, you summoned me here, didn't you? There was some kind of meeting, I'm sure of that."

China sighed again. "Not into my study! This is not a playroom."  
Korea looked around a bit, eyeing the tottering piles of… well, stuff, that China had everywhere. "You sure? Looks like a maze to me."

China whacked Korea with the plush, and he laughed, holding up his hands. "Sure, sure. I could give you tips on organizing, though, because I am the orig-"

"Let's go to the gardens," China said, interrupting the other nation for the second time. "We have things to… discuss."

* * *

_H_e watched in satisfaction as his body's hands trembled. The other mind- the conciousness that was not supposed to be there- was weakening.

The body was becoming his. He'd already used it once, to destroy another country. It was only a matter of time until the other mind broke down. He was the perfect form, the one that the Superior ntended, not this one.

Resist all you like, he said, just to himself. You cannot drive me away.

_I am here. I am waiting._

* * *

Russia was also sitting in a study that day, but he wasn't sitting on the floor, or trying to manage papers. The Baltics did all the easy work for him.

So he had spare time, which he chose to use by sitting at his desk, cleaning the blood off his lead pipe.

It was a good weapon, he thought. A nice little toy. It was certainly intimidating, as far as the Baltics showed. But it was getting old. Patches of rust were here and there, ones that he'd have to clean off later. And there were a few gaps in its metal.

He'd have to use a pickaxe in the next battle, he decided. Russia always fought with his troops, and this war would be easy. After all, Korea and Japan had already turned on China [he'd heard it had to do with being unable to gain land].  
It should be easy to take them all, the nation thought. At the very least, China and Korea. And he could use Korea as a base to invade Japan.

Russia smiled a threatening smile and wiped off the last trace of red, making a decision as he did. "Latvia!" he called.

"Yes, sir?" he answered. Latvia poked his head around the doorframe. "I'm here, sir."

"Bring me a smith or someone who can fix my pipe. I'm going to need it."

Russia watched Latvia scurry away, still smiling. This pipe was how he had started his career of war. This pipe would be how he ended it.

And every, every, every country would finally become one.


	4. Wars: Where Angels Lose Their Way

There was no world meeting that month.

It made Japan nervous. That was not the way things were supposed to be… The meetings were how countries resolved things. Settled things. It should have been of utmost importance in these times of war, but nobody had even suggested arranging a meeting.

"Worried, Japan?" Korea asked. Seeing his friend- or was he a brother?- made Japan slightly nervous. Turning on China that quickly was a mark of either extreme bravery or extreme stupidity.

And he wasn't sure which Korea was.  
"Hey, answer me."

Japan shrugged. "What do I have to be worried about?" he asked.

"I don't know. The state of the world." Korea dropped into the porch swing of his house, rocking back and forth gently. Japan watched him.

"It's a big world, isn't it?" Korea said softly. With his left hand, he pointed beyond the wall of his garden. "An entire world. One too big for my people to have a place."

"You have this place."

He shot Japan a tired, weary look. "Populations rise. We're going to end up killing each other for room."  
And wouldn't you like that? he added in thought. He searched Japan's calm, blank face, wondering if any soul was inside. Wouldn't you like it if I died and left you my land? For all I know, you're still with China. You're still against me, aren't you?

Korea kept a straight face as he went over his thoughts. Japan, too, had on a calm, emotionless mask.  
Suddenly Korea broke into a cheerful grin. "Come on, Japan. You won't get anywhere in life without a good smile."

Getting up, he turned to go inside. Japan watched him go, wondering if what he had said was true.

* * *

"Keep going! Don't fall back!" Germany shouted.

His deep voice carried over the brown, arid plain to the soldiers and officers. As they heard his orders, they kept marching. Most of the Italians, mixed into the crowd of Germans, had to be urged on with pokes and threats.

Italy himself stood next to Germany, on a cliff above the plain. He watched the soldiers cross the land that used to be Austria's.

"Are we claiming this place?" he asked.

Germany shrugged, eyes on the soldiers. "I don't want to, but we have to."

"Why?" Italy asked. "It'll mean spreading our troops thinner, and that means there'll be more places to send supplies to. We'll have to send pasta everywhere."

Germany shrugged again. "Please don't question my boss, Italia…"

"Is he mean?" Italy asked. "Does he starve you? I would be really upset if I couldn't have any pasta. I wouldn't be able to march at all. I'm surprised I even got to the top of this cliff. Hey, Germany, is that Hungary over there?"

Germany blinked. "What? No, he doesn't starve us, he's just very- Wait, did you say Hungary?"

Italy nodded, pointing across the plain. "See? She's waving a sword at us."

Germany shaded his eyes with a hand. "So it comes to this…"

Italy gave him a confused look as he began barking orders. "Hold formation! Continue to the midpoint, and prepare for the attack!"

Hungary and her army came closer as the Italian-German army advanced. She was at the head of her troops, a bare sword at her left hip, and her hair was tied back. The usual orange flower was gone, replaced by a bloody red one.

"Germany!" she shouted.

Germany motioned for his army to halt, and as they did, he nodded, acknowledging her.

She pointed her sword straight up. "I have come to claim this land and to take my revenge. This is rightfully my land, as Austria and I were allied. Do you yield?"

"Why is she speaking so formally?" Italy whispered, but Germany ignored him and shouted back.

"There is no claim to this land! You may try to take your revenge, but I will not yield. Come and take it if you wish to have it!"

Hungary hesitated, and her eyes flickered to the smaller figure next to Germany. "I have no quarrel with you, Ita-chan," she called. "Leave now, and I will not chase you."

Italy's lip trembled a little, and Germany glanced at him. The small Italian wasn't dedicated to this type of life, and Germany was almost sure he would leave, when-

"No," Italy said, trembling. "I will stay here. With Germany."

Hungary's eyes hardened a little, and she pointed her sword forward.

"Then we will fight."

* * *

Italy regretted his decision within five seconds.

As the armies moved forward, Hungary moved to the side and watched her army advance. Germany climbed down the cliff.

"Germany? Can't I just wait here, and, well… wait?"

"No. You'll be too much of a target. And even if you're a country, I don't want you hurt too badly. The deaths of your people will affect you."

Italy opened his mouth again to protest, but as a bullet slashed the shoulder of his uniform, he changed his mind and scaled the cliff with Germany.

When they reached the ground, the battle was in full swing. Italy had to concentrate hard to not run out of habit. He kept a hand on Germany's shoulder and actually opened his eyes, trying not to cry.

Finally they reached a clear space in the center of the two armies. It was the eye of the storm that had come.  
Hungary had a determined glint in her eyes, and her sword was out and ready. Germany drew his gun and prepared to fire. Italy reached for his white flag.

Germany touched his arm, shaking his head. "We aren't going to surrender, Italia."

"I-" Italy protested, but then Hungary attacked. Taking advantage of the opening, she went straight for Germany's throat. Her silvery blade whirled through the air, and for a second, Italy admired it. Germany jerked back, making Italy stumble, and shot once. His bullet nicked a petal of Hungary's flower as she retreated. She knew better than to try and deflect with her blade.

Italy was scared out of his mind. Here they were, two countries that he both loved, fighting… to the the death? He wasn't sure. And what would happen if a country received a fatal wound? Would they really die, or would they recover?

He didn't want to know. He wanted to just surrender.

But he'd made his decision, even though he regretted it.

* * *

Hungary crouched a little, trying to plan out what she would do next.

If she went right for his leg- no, he'd get her head, what about the arm- no, he'd switch hands and fire with the left. She'd seen him do it before, during World War II, and had often admired his ability with guns.

Now she hated it. She hated that he would even try to take Austria's land- how dare he- and she also hated that he was using Ita-chan. Never mind that they had been part of the Axis, never mind their shared history. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

She sucked in a breath and her plans flew out of her head as Germany fired again. Taking a risk, she lunged straight for his cheek. He sidestepped, as she'd thought he would, and trained his gun on her head.

It isn't fair, she thought desperately. It's not fair he has a gun and I only have a sword.

He fired.

She dodged.

The bullet went out of their little protected clearing, grazing her shoulder, leaving a line of firey pain behind it.

She staggered a little, left hand to her shoulder. Lifting it to her eyes, she saw that it was bloody.

_That much that quickly? That's not good…_she thought.

Germany smiled a cruel smile at her, leveling his gun to her head again.

This time, he wouldn't miss.

And then she closed her eyes, preparing for pain, the end- who knew what would happen?- and missed two key things as her world turned to one made only of the sounds of war.

* * *

Italy was hiding behind a convenient clump of rocks and watching Germany's and Hungary's battle. Nothing eventful had happened yet, nothing had really happened for a while.

Then-

Italy screamed [he couldn't help himself] as Hungary was hit. Closing her eyes, she slumped over to the side.  
No, no, no, Germany, don't kill her, please…

Germany had his gun leveled and ready to fire. There was an evil smile playing on his lips.

Germany never smiled like that.

Ever.

Not even during World War II.

What had happened to the Germany that he had been allied with then? Where was the one who had only done what he had been told, even if he hated it? Where was the one who knew what mercy was?

Where was the real Germany?

Italy screamed again. Germany whipped around- his eyes softened from angry red to cool blue- and also fell, hands to his head.

* * *

It was a good thing Italy knew how to retreat.

He knelt down next to Germany and slung him over his back, struggling to stand up again. When he did, he could barely move.

_Move! If you want to save both Hungary and Germany, you need to move! Move! Now!_

He took a shaky step.

_The British are after you! And the Hungarians will be, too!_

That did it. He took off across the plain, darting between soldiers, to the edge of the fight and then some.  
He set Germany down carefully, then went back for Hungary.

The second time going took a while longer, and Italy had to fight a little [it was good he kept a kitchen knife on him]. Within a few minutes, he had both unconscious countries far from the fighting.

Then Italy sat down on the ground, stared at their bodies for a few seconds, and put his head in his hands and cried.


	5. Convergence: Italian Hospital

Prussia didn't like to pace.

It was annoying [and so un-awesome] when he watched someone walking back and forth, usually muttering to themselves, back and forth. It annoyed him.

But on this day he paced anyway, diagonally from corner to corner of the small waiting room. His brother Germany had been in the hospital for a few days, and so far only Italy was allowed to visit him for any long period of time. Why couldn't he see his own brother for more than an hour? Granted, this hospital was in Italy's land and not his, but it shouldn't matter, should it?

Prussia didn't mutter [that would be really un-awesome], didn't let himself think, only stared at the floor. He just burned energy.

Finally a small nurse popped her head around the doorframe. "Mr. Beilschmit? You may come in now."

Prussia lifted his head and whirled around, charging into the hospital's hallways, down corridors that many visits had taught him. The nurse yelled after him, but he mostly ignored her.

"West!" he cried, bursting into the room quite loudly. Next door he heard a shriek and the clink of breaking glass, but he didn't care about that either.

Italy started and smiled, while Germany sat up in the bed. "Good mor-"

"It's awesome to see you concious!" Prussia said, striding into a chair and flinging himself down in it. His run had tired him out some- not that he'd admit it. He took a few deep breaths while Germany blinked and looked somewhat confused. "Why is that? Haven't I been concious before?"

"Every other time I came, you were either knocked out or sleeping," Prussia explained.

Italy was quiet, shaking a little, and Germany looked like he was hiding something in his icy blue eyes.  
"What?" Prussia demanded. "What?!"

Italy broke down and let himself giggle a bit. Germany sighed and explained: "I was… sleeping… every time you came because that was the only way the nurses would let you in. Said you were disruptive to the healing process or something."

"I am not! I am awesome, completely healthy for everything-"

"Ve~"

"The nurses didn't think so. Why are you here? They didn't send up a notice."

Prussia looked proud of himself. "I came under the name 'Gilbert Beilschmit'."

"That's your human name."

"I know, right? And this time I said I was a friend! So they let me in."

"I'm starting to regret it."

"Anyway, I'm here for a reason." Prussia's voice dropped, like he was about to tell a secret.

"Ve? What's that?"

"I'm busting you two out of here."

Germany's jaw clenched. "East-"

"Shut up. You know you can't stay here forever. They need you back at home. Treaties, things like that. And I've heard talk of a few missions. You can't stay here. Besides, it's been long enough for you to heal. You're a country, remember? We need to leave, West."

Prussia was never this serious. Germany couldn't recall any time he'd been strict or serious at all, not even when he was raising him, not even when Germany had threatened to stop drinking beer.

"How would you have us leave?" he asked, after a long silence.

Prussia grinned, back to his old bouncy self. His silver hair sparkled in the fluorescent light. "I've got it all figured out."

* * *

Germany finished scribbling the note to the nurses and placed it on his pillow, along with the hospital bill. He took his clothes [Italy had brought a set from his house- never mind that he still had the key from old war times] and slipped into the bathroom to change. As he did, he could hear Prussia and Italy speaking. Not all of their conversation was audible, but he heard some.

"I was really worried when I heard about that battle, " Prussia said quietly.

"Ve, I know… and Hungary…"

"What? I haven't heard anything about her."

Germany was surprised- nobody had mentioned Hungary to him, either. His fingers, usually sure, fumbled with a button.

"What happened to her?" Prussia pressed. For once Germany was glad of his brother's nosy nature.

"She nearly died," Italy said in a low voice. "While she was in her own land- before Germany was admitted to the hospital, I remember because I was working on the paperwork when I heard- someone attacked…"

Italy's voice broke and Germany heard one last, quiet 've' before he started sobbing.

He finished dressing as quickly as he could and burst out of the bathroom.

"Can we go now?" he asked, a little over-loudly.

Italy jumped when he saw Germany re-enter the room, giving a slight hiccup. "Ve! Ger- Germany!"

"Kesesese… Yeah, let's go, come with the awesome me."

* * *

Prussia's plan turned out to be simple.

Instead of his usual bust-out-the-window strategy, they simply walked out of the hospital while the nurses were changing shifts. There was quite a rush in the halls, and nobody noticed them walking out.

"Look, there's Russia," Germany said under his breath and frowning. "What's he doing here? And China, too! What's with them?"  
Italy made a whimpering noise. "I don't know, they shouldn't be here…"

"Keep quiet," Prussia hissed. They watched Russia leave, trying to look casual.

A few seconds later, China walked out the same exit, almost on the large nation's coat hem.

"What's going on?" Germany asked quietly.

Italy only shrugged, hiccuping a little. His eyes were wide with fear.

Prussia turned his head for a second, then checked the other direction. "I don't see anyone else."

"Then let's just go," Germany said. His voice was determined. "Come on, Italia."

* * *

Russia had not been in the Italian hospital for nothing, as had several other countries.

The Italian hospital had had a total of six visits from countries within the past few hours. Not all of them knew about it; Russia doubted that even Italy knew about all of them.  
The nations did have human identities, after all.

The whole hospital business was somewhat complicated. Russia had been there to check on China, who had been there to check on Japan [that tidbit had been conveniently given to Russia by Estonia, under a threat to Latvia]. Japan had been there to check on Italy's medical supplies [possibly thinking of stealing them, also told to him by Estonia], also to check on Italy and Germany. Italy and Germany had not known of all this activity; they were walking out of the building with Prussia very calmly.

It was strange to see Prussia calm, Russia thought. It was more normal to see Italy frightened [of what? he wondered], and also normal to see Germany's stoic face.

Russia turned over a few thoughts in his mind, making decisions. The Baltics were already waiting nearby with a car, and he didn't need troops when he had his lead pipe. Japan hadn't left the hospital yet- Estonia had told him that over the phone a few minutes before he'd left- and China, Prussia, Germany and Italy were all there in the parking lot.

He drew a finger over the pipe's smooth surface thoughtfully. Lithuania had actually been able to repair it quite well. It was ready for a battle.

He took out his phone and tapped in a quick message, then snapped it shut and smiled.

It was fun to fight. It was fun to see the terror on the faces of others when they realized that they were under attack. It would be fun to hear the others scream.

Russia flicked an errant corner of his scarf over his shoulder and stood upright from against the corner of the building, already planning how he would attack.


	6. A White Flag in a Parking Lot

Estonia stared in horror at the phone's screen, trying not to believe the words that were flashing there.

"What? What is it?" Lithuania demanded. His voice was slightly higher pitched than normal- proof of his nervousness. It was a thing that only Latvia noticed. Estonia was busy panicking, and Estonia didn't usually panic. He was smart enough to get himself out of bad situations.

But this was a bad situation that he had no choice but to be in. Fate had become unnecessarily cruel these days.

"Russia-san," Estonia whispered. "He's… he must have gone…"

"What are you talking about?" Latvia asked. Even his voice seemed very afraid, trembling into the tense atmosphere of the Baltics' car.

"He's…"

Lithuania snatched the phone away from Estonia and looked at its screen, not really processing the words.

Struggling to get his thoughts in order, he read aloud for Latvia.

"'Baltics. I've decided to make a little detour. Some more will become one with me, like you are, da? Wait nicely and don't make too much noise, da? Don't reply. -Russia'"

Latvia was frozen. "We… We can't let him do that, can we…?"

"It's not like we can stop him," Estonia said grimly. "We'll have to wait in here. Or else."

"Or else what?" Lithuania asked, fists clenched. "We can fight with the others, right…? Right?"

"Remember the time he made us do ballet?" Latvia said suddenly.

There was a long silence in the car.

* * *

Italy had reverted to his old habits during a fight- that is, waving a white flag and hiding behind something. In this case, the something was the corner of the hospital. [Germany had taken his ordinary white flag, but he was Italian, and so was the hospital. It had a basket of cloth near its door for emergency bandages and emergency white flags. Wire and ready twigs were also nearby in their own baskets. The labels said they were to be used for pressure application and emergency splints, but everyone knew the truth.] Germany himself was out in the lot, sheltered behind a car, and firing. Italy couldn't really believe that Germany- his Germany- would fire on anyone in a place where innocents could be hurt.

But Russia had attacked first.

It was all fresh in his mind, and terrifying, too. Why had so many countries been in his land? Shouldn't they have asked to visit? Were they going to invade? Should he have known?

He moaned and dropped the white flag, pressing both hands to his head. The beginning of a stress-induced headache was attacking him. He tried to distract himself [there wasn't any pasta around, so it wasn't easy]. Italy knelt, putting his elbows on the ground and holding his head in his hands.

This position gave him an excellent view of the battle.

Around the lot, it raged on. Japan and China had teamed up, despite their ongoing war. [Italy suspected that the two would never really break all ties with each other.] In Japan's skilled hands, his katana easily deflected attacks from Russia's pipe. China attacked whenever Japan had Russia distracted, but the big nation was somehow capable of attacking and defending with the same stroke. Germany's bullets never hit flesh, only shredding cloth, and China's strikes seemed to have no effect. Japan never got a chance to attack, but Italy was pretty sure that if he had tried, it wouldn't have worked.

Prussia had no weapon [and he wasn't a martial arts expert like China or, for that matter, Korea], but he wasn't about to hide, either. Instead he positioned himself behind a car, exposing part of his head and torso, calling taunts to Russia.

Italy didn't know what to do.

It was pretty true that he was horrible in a war situation, even in a minor scuffle. Directing his soldiers against other armies was hard. Coming up with strategies was hard. Even trying to figure out where troops should go was hard.

He felt useless.

* * *

The days after the 'Lot Battle', as it was nicknamed, were hell for everyone.

Italy seemed to be emotionally scarred. Germany had no wounds from the fight, but France was suddenly trying to gain entrance to his lands [no, no, not like _that_.] Prussia had to deal with trying to advise Germany, as it was somewhat his country as well. Russia had to deal with a fresh wave of attempted invasions by China, assisted by Japan and Korea [someone had managed to make them change their minds, as the Asians were now allied for good]. Poland had openly declared alliance with Lithuania, by extension, supporting the Baltics. They were actively trying to break fully out of Russia's control.

Switzerland was hard-pressed to remain neutral; there were several offers of money and land in exchange for support. But he remained the way he had always been.

America and Canada had started their own, more personal war, which seemed very strange [there had been several articles written about Canada's 'new' technology- exporting spiked brownies to America- and whether that was playing dirty]. They had broken ties with their 'parent' countries, although Canada and France were still helping each other somewhat. Most were pretty sure that America and England would start their own war soon.

Countries were tired. Their citizens lived in constant fear and darkness. There was always war somewhere. Were they really meant to fight like this?

Nobody knew.


	7. Breaking: The State of the World

"Dammit."

Spain's voice was quiet at first, but after all of ten seconds, he was shouting various insults at him.

They were human insults- a sign of how human Spain had become, he thought- and they had no effect on him. It helped that this body was intimidating when it had to be.

"You are the second to fall," he said quietly. In the mouth of this body, his words sounded strange.

Spain's eyes widened. "What?"

"I must purge the world for the Superior," he muttered. Then, raising his voice, he said, "The world will become perfect, the way it was meant to be!"

He ended his speech in a shout, matching Spain's previous voice level.

"You… You aren't…" Spain whispered.

"I am," he hissed. "I am the perfect form."

"I…" Spain trailed off, staring at the handcuffs, the chains, the immaculate dungeon wall that he was shackled to. Picking up a chain, he gave it an experimental rattle.

He watched the strange nation through the iron bars of the door. Spain really was an idiot, he thought. A complete idiot.

"I trusted you!" the other nation shouted suddenly. "I actually trusted you after all the things you did to the other countries! Even though you… I trusted you… You aren't who you used to be."

Suddenly the body jerked around. It was an involuntary movement, but it worked to conceal the forming tears.

Why am I… he wondered, then shook his head.

Checking the locks on Spain's cell once more, he nodded to the guard and left the dungeon, boot heels clicking smartly against the stone floor.

* * *

"Spain, bastard, where are you?" Romano shouted.

He set down the bag of tomatoes on Spain's table [they were NOT thank-you gifts, much less any reason to visit early, no; they were just a little… appreciation… thing for letting him, Romano, stay at his house for a negotiation meeting].

"Hey! Tomato bastard! I got… I mean, I'm here!" he yelled, stepping into the main hallway of Spain's home.

Nothing, nobody, not even human servants or maids or whatever he had now [Spain had gotten a few assistants after the time of colonies]. Romano walked along the hallway further, checking rooms with or without their doors shut.

The library was empty. Spain's kitchen was quiet. Nothing in the laundry room. Dining room was messy like usual. The bedroom had no lights on in it.

Romano finished his loop of the house and ended up back in the reception room. The brown bag of tomatoes sat on the table, waiting for Spain. Glaring at him, taunting his effort to gain some kind of ally in this pointless war.

"He-ey! Tomato bastard! Come and get it!" he yelled.

Panic found its way into Romano's voice, and he dropped all pretense of not caring. As evil as Spain had been to him when he was young, he was still something like family. Close to him to say the least.

"Spain! Answer me!"

He wandered around the house again, panicking further. Romano hadn't eaten since last night, at dinner, and he was losing energy. [He'd expected to eat here.] He was thirsty, too…

Dammit, why hadn't he eaten earlier! Why hadn't he kept a bottle of water in his car or at least the one from the plane! Damn!

"Spain!"

Silence.

"Spain!"

Silence.

"_Spain!"_  
Romano slumped against a wall to the ground, trying to hold in his emotions, and did the thing he'd sworn a long time ago not to do.

He cried.

* * *

France was worried.

For one thing, he hadn't seen Prussia at his old self in weeks. He hadn't seen Spain at all in a month. He hadn't had a good argument with his Angleterre [okay, fine, England] in longer than that.

And his boss had prevented him from seeing any girls while the war was going on.

First Austria, then [nearly] Hungary, now [possibly] Spain.

He didn't want to lose him, not a member of the Bad Touch Trio. It would be bad for the reputation, bad for the friendship, bad for the image, bad for the economy…

France took a breath, trying to think of another reason to call someone, preferably Prussia. He was just making excuses.

That last girl had been very pretty, too… If he did this the war might end faster…  
France took another breath, making a decision.

He reached for his phone.

"What?" France demanded.

The mechanical voice on the cell phone didn't acknowledge him, of course. It just continued, looping the same message over and over again.

"The number for your contact GILBERT BEILSCHMIT cannot be reached…"

"Damn," he breathed. "No, no, no…"

He ended the call and flicked through his contacts again. Where was he… Ah, there. Why hadn't he done this sooner? he wondered.

He tapped on Spain's number and waited.

"The number for your contact ANTONIO FERNANDEZ-CARRIEDO cannot be reached at this moment…"  
He snapped the phone shut. Damn, damn…

He was starting to sound like Romano, France thought ruefully. He had to deal with this situation somehow… maybe he could start planning to go personally to Germany.  
He had to see Prussia.

* * *

It had only been a day, but Spain was already breaking.

Normally, the Spaniard was constantly smiling, upbeat and generally happy. These days, he sat in the corner of his cell, knees to his chest, head dropped.

It was nearly time for the kill.

* * *

Germany could not sleep.

The power lines were down, troops were starving, Austria was dead, Hungary nearly died, Spain was missing, he had a headache, Italy was also missing…

No, he couldn't sleep.

He went through a list of the countries in his head.

Nobody had any idea of where either Italy or Spain was.

China was suffering [production had dropped to its lowest in the century, and his economy was dying], Japan was showing signs of stress from trying to fight Russia, and Korea was trying to take care of his brothers.

Prussia was sulking in the basement. France was definitely alive, attempting to set a temporary truce with England [Germany had no idea why]. America and Canada were still at it.

The Baltics were still at their war too, also fighting Russia, trying to gain complete independence. Poland was using a lot of resources trying to help them.

Agh…

No, Germany could not sleep.


	8. The Crickets Cry: Where Are You?

Italy yelped as his foothold crumbled, scrabbling to find a better place. His fingers tightened on the gray rocks as a few tumbled past him, falling to the ground. He took a shuddering breath and looked upwards. There were only a few feet left to go.

Normally Italy wouldn't have been climbing over a wall. Normally Italy wouldn't have even thought about taking the wall. Normally he wouldn't be out at night.

But he needed to see someone. His brother, to be more specific. Romano had gone to Spain two days ago, expecting to stay the night and part of the day. He'd told Italy that he'd be back in the evening, in time for a light dinner.

He was supposed to be back yesterday, Italy thought sadly. Where was he?

Italy couldn't turn to Germany for help either; he'd been busy for a long time with papers and files and things like that. Nobody was allowed to see him, which included Italy. He'd been kept away from Germany's study the first time he tried.

Why didn't Germany care? Italy wondered, finding a secure handhold and pulling himself up.

Italy wasn't the macho type. It wasn't easy to climb over a wall, then go down the other way. It was hard.  
But it is possible, he reminded himself. Germany can do it. I bet Japan can do it. And France nii-san and everyone else, too!

He thought of the pasta he'd had some time ago [long enough so that it wouldn't come back up, but recent enough so that it gave him energy] and jumped the last yard.

He clenched his teeth against the shock in his feet, shaking them out. It seemed to work; the pain faded rather quickly, although some stayed in the arches.

Italy shook his head as well, curl bouncing. He had to get going.

* * *

Germany sighed as he walked out of his study. Damned French, trying to call a peace meeting at this time, especially when he had his own problems.

He checked the clock on the wall- it read 11:36 PM. Italy would probably be asleep… if he was here.

He'd been gone since yesterday.

Germany didn't have the resources to get troops to look for him. Instead he'd gone looking for Italy himself [he had a suspicion that the Italian had tried to cross the border], but he'd found nothing. The night guard hadn't reported anyone at the gate, either, and Italy had definitely not left during the day.

He sat down at the dining table mindlessly, not doing anything. His hands folded out of habit.

It felt so strange not to have the annoying Italian with him. He was almost incomplete without a background sound of 've', without the producer of that sound.

Germany put his head in his hands, sitting there silently, broken.

* * *

Italy couldn't believe his eyes when he finally reached his destination.

The ground was brown, burned, dead. Nothing grew anywhere; whoever had done this had been extremely careful not to let anything escape. There were no people anywhere.

Not even foundations of buildings were left.

He'd seen this before- when he and Germany had gone to- when he'd visited- Austria, and now Spain-

He couldn't think.

Where was his brother? As long as his land and people were safe, he couldn't die, not even if he suffered a mortal injury. And Italy was sure he would have felt something if Romano's land had been… hurt, maybe, or damaged.

So Romano was safe… then what about Spain?

Countries could die. Austria had proved that.

Was Spain…?

No. _No. No!_

* * *

"I don't care what your blasted boss says! Meet me, now! Or as fast as you can get here!"

France's voice, unusually angry and frustrated, rang in Prussia's ears. "Fine," he snapped. He jabbed at the phone, ending the call with unnecessary force. Shoving the phone in his pocket, he walked off to his car.  
The hill where France wanted to meet him was nearby, within a short walking distance, but Prussia wanted to bring the car so he could run France over with it. Why was the bastard trying to call a meeting? And why not with West? His brother was the more logical one to meet with anyway.

His left hand touched the gun at his hip. If France was being an idiot, there was always that.

He drove quickly, and within a good five minutes, he was facing France at the top of the hill.  
"What do you want?"

"Have you heard from Spain?"

Prussia blinked- he hadn't been expecting a question or the desperate tone in France's voice. "No, why? Did something happen?"

"Damn. _Damn_."

France turned away, tugging at his jacket. Prussia just stared in confusion. France didn't swear, or act like this at all.

What was going on?

France turned back around. There was a hint of the old France in his expression. "Get in the car, Prussia."

"What? Why?"

"Please. We are going for a little ride."

Prussia grumbled a bit. "Fine," he muttered. If it would help him find out why France was like this, sure.  
France hopped in shotgun and directed him to 'drive like an Italian' to an Internet cafe. It took them no time to get there. Once there, France had Prussia look up 'Spain'.

He stared in horror as the results came up. There were a few links at the top of the page, but the main focus was the images.

Every single one was of brown, empty plains. There was no life. Nothing green. There were a few fuzzy shots of a tall, cloaked figure, but that wasn't important to him.

The last time that Prussia had seen destruction on that scale, it had been in Austria.

And Austria was dead.

* * *

Italy didn't have a choice. He wandered through the empty land, calling miserably for Romano.

There was never an answer. Still, he kept going, ignoring his aching feet, his hunger, his thirst. It didn't matter.

_Romano.  
_  
Where was he?


	9. The Stage is Set, The Actors Are Dying

Romano couldn't breathe.

At least, he felt that way. Like he had been walking through something very, very cold, and it hurt to take a breath.

He needed to, though.

A soft sigh. Yes, he could breathe... There was a small, white cloud of mist in front of him. It disappeared rather quickly.

He must be somewhere cold, then. If his breath could create mist, then he had to be somewhere cold.  
His thoughts flickered, dancing in and out of his mind. Romano couldn't think clearly. Couldn't remember much, either.

Broken. Something was broken.

He needed to find someone.

Someone was also looking for him, but these people were not the same.

He had been somewhere warm.

Where was that?

Where was he now?

"You're awake," said a voice, echoing behind him. It wasn't a question, it was an order, telling him to get up. Romano staggered to his feet- why had he been sitting, anyway?- and turned to face the person. His wrists rubbed uncomfortably against metal handcuffs. They clinked against chains leading back to the dungeon wall.

The person laughed. "You're surprisingly strong. Not too many can shake off being attacked like that."

"Wh-what?" He hated his stutter. To make up for it, he glared at the person, who looked at him one more time. It was an appraising look, one that he'd seen before. Several times, back in an old war…

"You- You're-"

"Shh. We can't have you too excited. You're strong, unlike your brother, and the Superior wants you to be back at full strength before I start torturing you."

Torture?

Yes. He knew about this.

This person wasn't a person, he was a nation. A violent nation, with bloody pasts.

He was the killer.

He was sure.

The person smiled at Romano as he began to understand.

* * *

Prussia was beginning to understand, too. He was beginning to understand France's crazy plan to save Spain. A very, very crazy plan that point-blank would not work.

"It won't work," he said carefully. "Not if he's already-"

France looked desperate. "It will work," he insisted.

Five stages of grief. The first- Denial, said Germany's voice in Prussia's head. It was from an old memory, one he couldn't quite place, but it was there.

"France. Spain is dead."

Prussia managed to keep his voice level. "He's gone. For good."

"Then why isn't there a body?"

That was a valid point, Prussia thought. Austria's body had turned up after he died, exactly in the center of his devastated land. Spain hadn't shown up. Yet.

"Listen to me. We don't know how long it takes for the body to appear."

France had a sad look in his eyes, a look that said 'I give up'. Prussia could understand some of it, but only some. It was hard during this long wartime. It was probably harder on 'soft' nations such as France, who lived and loved like humans.

But Prussia had been created to fight. He hadn't been created like a normal nation, like France. He had survived the near-complete destruction of his own land in the past. He had survived. He was still around, because he was a fighter.

But there wasn't a chance for Spain. Prussia knew that for sure.

* * *

He'd finished two targets already. The third was on its way, and a fourth would probably join them out of its own grief. The Superior had been rather pleased with him, judging by the last communication.

The second-mind was still there, which annoyed him- it was almost not necessary now. Almost, but not quite. It was still there, still raging against him. He listened to it rant as he walked back to his body's normal house. [He wouldn't keep his base of operations near his body's house, that would be stupid.]

_Traitor! Liar! Murderer!_

_You like the thought of driving Italy to suicide__. I wonder if you can feel emotion, the way you act. You don't care about anything except__ your stupid, megalomaniac goal__._

_I hate you._

He had long ago abandoned the notion of answering the second-mind. He gave it no more status, no more mind, than an it. It would always be an it.

Just as the rest of the world was.

* * *

Italy felt broken.

Many others had. Austria had felt broken, as had Spain. Romano had felt broken.

Italy's pain was different from theirs. His pain came from an eternity of searching, of pain, of heartbreak.  
There was love, yes. Passionately loving was almost required of Italians [like the French, but with the French, it wasn't required; it was almost a hobby]. There was love for a parter, love for a mother and father.

There was love for a brother.

Italy's brother was gone. Vanished. He had nobody to turn to. [His brother was actually one of those that he would confide in; Germany was distant these days; everyone else was an enemy in this long, long war.]

Italy was broken, and if he didn't see Romano alive and well within a few days, he would die.


	10. Filler: America's Rage

A/N: This is basically filler, but it's a scene I wanted to write. Warnings: breaking the fourth wall and generally disturbing the mood of the entire fic. If you're reading through in one session it might be best to skip this. It's just filler. Funny filler, but still. It'll probably ruin the mood of the entire fic.

That said, I'm pretty sure some of you will read it anyway. So enjoy!

* * *

America was ticked off.

Not just mad. Pissed. He was _mad_.

Come on! He was a hero!

So why hadn't he been really featured yet?!

America thought this over to himself as he paced in his living room. [He took special care to avoid the splinters of broken fourth wall; they were rather sharp.] Hungary, the former Axis, France, South Italy, Spain… They and many others had places in the spotlight. Why didn't he, the hero, have any? He had given the author a break for a little; Canada's evil brownies had him and his people out of commission for a while. But that had ended when he could stand up and walk around properly without barfing.

He wanted to strangle the author, like Prussia probably would've. But Prussia had plenty of readers.

America didn't.

"All right!" he shouted aloud, punching his right hand into the air [his left held a burger]. "Next chapter, you're getting me! The true HERO!"

He was satisfied with that, and sat down on the couch to finish his burger.

* * *

Outside America's living room, Lithuania was doing his weekly housekeeper duties. Recently he'd gotten around to also doing yard work for free- it kept him in shape for the war, and it might tip America onto his side as an ally- which meant being in America's yard. Said yard was directly outside of the living room; accessible through a sliding glass door.

Lithuania was a housekeeper. It was his job to clean the glass, so the glass door was quite shiny and see-through.

As America paced and muttered to himself, Lithuania watched in terror.

He nodded to himself as America finally punched his fist into the air, shouting something. "America has truly gone crazy," he whispered, and went back to his yard work.


	11. Fall Off The Deep End

Spain didn't get a funeral.

Prussia thought this over, tapping a pen against his knee [a pen and not the flat of his old sword; West insisted it was too dangerous and rusty].

Austria got a funeral.

Spain didn't get a funeral. He had been cremated, instead of buried, and had no other death rites.

It didn't feel right.

Besides, there wasn't anyone close to Spain anymore. Not his people and not Romano, not Italy [he was too upset over Romano's disappearance to do anything]. France was mentally broken. Many countries had shown signs of going insane, but France was the first one to fall over the deep end. Prussia knew Germany had stress-induced headaches all the time. He wondered if he was going to crack too.

And Prussia himself? He didn't know. Not now. But he was thinking.

Prussia was definitely thinking.

* * *

America watched through an old pair of bird-observing binoculars.

He wasn't watching anything in particular right now, no, he was watching for something.

Canada wouldn't dare to send planes, he thought, not now, not when his precious father France is so… so broken.

America was proud of himself for cutting off ties with England, but truth be told, he wasn't sure how he felt about the Englishman. Or about anyone else, either.

It wasn't easy to be a nation.

If you were a nation, you had to fight everyone, all the time. Especially these days. If you were a nation, your brother was the closest one to you- until your boss called war on his boss, and then suddenly you were trying to kill him. It was the same with parents, sisters, anyone. Anyone could be a friend one day and an enemy the next.

Humans were about the only ones who wouldn't betray a nation, but there were cases. Spies were everywhere. And even if a human wasn't a spy, they died very quickly. France had learned that the hard way.

And France was on the edge of a mental breakdown, if not already in one. Would the Hero, America, ever fall like that?

America shook his head. The flaps of his beloved aviator cap touched his ears gently, reminding him that there was work to be done.

He raised the binoculars again, waiting for Canada's planes.

* * *

Russia was in his study again.

It was almost all-out winter, and it was very cold. He didn't mind that. He was Russia, the largest and [to his boss] the most powerful nation.

Still, he had problems, the most annoying one being the Asian countries. Japan hadn't given up yet, even through he'd suffered.

Russia just wanted to be friends, but something… something kept making them fight. China had recovered a bit, and now that he had, both he and Korea were supporting Japan's war, fighting together. Vietnam, Taiwan and Hong Kong were also against Russia.

It must be hard to be an Asian, he mused. They were always changing sides and alliances.

He envied them.

They were so… so close, almost like family. Russia didn't have anyone like that. Ukraine still didn't want anything to do with him, and Belarus was Belarus.

He wanted an ally, but he couldn't have any. His boss and something else [he'd forgotten what] was preventing him.  
Russia stood up, went to a cabinet, and opened it. Inside was his lead pipe.

It had become very worn-down these days. Not with rust, but with dents, bullet holes, and bloodstains. Scars of a new eternity of fighting, scars that wouldn't leave no matter how hard he tried.

It was Russia's heart, but he didn't know if his heart could heal again. He didn't know if it was too far gone.

Was he too far gone?

* * *

Italy turned the gun over in his hands.

It was black metal, scratched in several places, and definitely used. It was warm, too.

He didn't want to do this.

He needed to see his brother.

He wanted Romano.

He needed Romano.

One more day, he said to himself. One more day-

And that was when he felt the stabbing pain.

* * *

He'd done it again, he thought. Completed the kill within a week. His boss had been able to watch his victim bleed to death as well, something that pleased the Superior. The blood had been slow to leave the body, though, in these near-freezing temperatures.

But it didn't matter. The victim's human body was dead.

He turned around, walking off to prepare his supplies. The destruction of South Italy's land would have to be fast.

* * *

It hurt. It hurt.

Was this what torture victims went through? Italy wondered dazedly. He'd never found out, he'd always spilled too quickly.

He brought a hand to his eyes, trying to clear his vision. It stayed clouded, through, and he could only see blurred outlines.

He needed someone. Where was Germany…? Ah, yes. He'd said something quickly about fighting Hungary again. Italy was supposed to guard their land while Germany was gone.

He couldn't. Not now.

Italy couldn't move, couldn't breathe anymore. He was still alive, and he would stay that way, but he hurt nearly everywhere.

It hurt.

* * *

Germany was satisfied. His troops had won the last battle rather easily, and he'd given his instructions to the commander.  
He needed to get back home, to Italy. Something told him that the smaller nation needed something that only he could give. He wasn't sure what, but he felt it.

He picked up his pace. [Yes, he was walking, but only to a certain point, at which he'd take a helicopter back.]  
There was a nagging feeling in his chest. He needed to get back.

* * *

Ships sailing the Mediterranean wondered at the great blaze of fire that was South Italy, and some of North Italy as well. Acrid smoke filled the air, causing a short plague of coughs. Sailors called it an omen that the earth was angry, but it was less than that. It was just someone on the level of a nation that wanted to kill.

The fires burned themselves out by night, although there were still glowing embers. Nobody wanted to go near, because they were afraid the fires might spring up again.

And so it was that nobody helped this victim, as had happened to all the others, and in the morning there was only one Italy.


	12. His Realization, His Suicide

"Ita… Italia…" Germany whispered.

The small body on the floor was curled up into a ball, hands covering his head. He was crying something, sobbing and trying to speak at the same time. The carpet nearest his face was soaked.

Germany crouched down next to him. He reached out a hand, then took it back on a second thought. He wasn't sure what to do, so he hesitated a little before picking Italy up and carrying him to his room.

Germany laid Italy down on his bed, arranging the blanket over him. He felt angry with himself- he didn't know how to take care of someone in this state- but that was all he could do.

He didn't call a doctor- he knew exactly what was wrong with Italy and how to solve the problem.

But nothing could be done until Italy woke up.

He sat down in a chair next to the bed and waited.

* * *

Italy woke up rather quickly, afraid… of what? He wasn't sure, but he was terrified.

Germany started as Italy sat up. "Italia… you're all right?"

Italy started to nod, then wondered why Germany was asking.

Everything crashed down on him in one second, from the day before to the beginning of the Long War.

The pain. Romano's death. France's dive into insanity. Spain's death. The battle with Hungary. The last sane dinner with Germany- no, the last sane dinner he'd had at all. The funeral. Austria's death.

Italy made a strangled, howling-whimpering sound and buried his face into his pillow, slumping back into a laid-back position.

Germany stood up, awkwardly rubbing Italy's back. He said nothing; words of comfort meant nothing anymore, not these days.

Finally Italy shuddered and sat up again. "Is Romano… he… is he really…"

Germany nodded.

Italy buried his face in his pillow again.

* * *

Russia held an axe to Japan's throat, pinning him on the ground.

The world around them was very still. There were no live soldiers- all, absolutely all of them were dead [or, as some of Japan's were, frozen]. The tundra-like site of the battle was quiet as ever. Animals had been driven away during the battle.

"So it's down to this now, hmm?" Russia asked cheerfully. The axe shone too brightly, reflecting off sheets of ice and blinding the smaller nation.

Japan squirmed around a bit, trying to get away from the blade, but Russia simply pushed down. A drop of warm, red blood appeared at Japan's throat.

"Don't move," Russia said softly. "I want to see your agony when I kill you."

_No. He will not kill me_, Japan thought. His mind was still working, and working quickly. _Even if my human body dies, as long as my land and people are safe, I will not die.  
_  
_And is it not worthy to die for honor, against an enemy who would otherwise kill in shame?  
_  
His mind was made up.

With a quick movement, Japan drew a knife from its hidden sheath. Russia started to say something, but he never finished.

He was cut off by the sudden spurt of blood and the snap as Japan's spinal cord broke.

* * *

There is a kill, he mused. Why is there a kill? I did not…

Ah. Suicide.

No matter.

He took sudden control of his host body, overriding every bit of control that the other mind had. There was a burst of surprise, but he overrode it as well.

There is a kill, he thought. I need to take advantage.

"Hey! HE-EY! CHINA!"

Said nation looked up from sharpening a dagger. His eyes were tired as he askd, "What do you need, Korea?"

"You need this, I'd say. It's Japan. He's burning."

China stood up so quickly he nicked his thumb on the blade. "What?"

"You heard me." Somewhere in a secret part of his mind, under his carefree mask, he felt quiet sorrow- China would not have stood up so quickly if it had been him on fire. China didn't care as much about him as he did Japan. To China he was just… trash. Worthless.

He shook his head, curl bouncing and returning to its usual, carefree expression. "I've got my ships ready. C'mon."

* * *

Germany… Russia… There was something… suspicious about those two… someone… had killed… he didn't know…

Italy's thoughts were hazy, but through his mostly unconscious mind, he put two and two together.

I know… who… you… I'll get you… for Romano… he thought, still dazed.

He slipped back into a soft sleep, turning over the strange realizations he'd had.


	13. Truth Of The World

Italy stood up shakily. His feet hurt badly; they had more than a few burns on them, and so did his legs.

Normally he'd not do anything if he was in that state, but he'd never been so determined.

He knew. He knew who had been destroying the world, and he had to tell Germany.

Italy was a little afraid; what if Germany thought he was wrong?

He shook his head. He knew he was right.

Carefully, he took a step. He nearly fell down; a strong hand caught his and pulled him up gently.

"Italia, what are you doing?" Germany asked. "You need to rest-"

"I- I can't. I know who…"

"What?"

Italy kept still, leaning against Germany's shoulder for support. His hands trembled. "I know who killed Romano fratello…"

"What?! How? Who?"

"It… it was…" Italy began. He took a deep, shuddering breath and pushed himself away from Germany to look into his eyes.

"It's you, Germany."


	14. Keys and Ice Blue

Germany's mind was in a whirl. What? Him? How? He wouldn't kill a nation; why was Italy accusing him of it? And by extension, accusing him of killing Spain and Austria, of causing France's mental instability.

It wasn't him; he was sure, but there was something in Italy's eyes, his words, that seemed to believe completely in what he said. Something that showed a pure heart…

_Purity. That is what I seek._

Germany jumped. "Italia, did you… Did you say something?"

Startled, Italy shook his head. His eyes were open and spilling tears.

_I am not__ your friend, Germany. As a matter of fact, he is not either._

Germany was still in a state of shock. There was a voice in his head-

_No. I am more than a voice._

Oh god.

* * *

Italy watched Germany put a hand to his head. "Germany, what's-" he began.

"Italia! Get out!" he barked, in the no-nonsense voice he used for ordering soldiers.

Italy backed away slowly, palms up. "Germany-"

"Out!" he roared, and the frightened Italian scampered out. Germany slammed the door after him.

He sat against the door, but jumped up as something slammed against it, fleeing to the safety of his room.

Germany was in there for hours.

Italy could hear him raging, things crashing against the walls. There was something that sounded like a scream and a groan, and then…

Silence.

That scared Italy most of all.

* * *

No_. No. I am going insane, like France was-_

_You are not insane, although I would question the sanity of your world._

_There's a voice in my head-_

_I am much more than a voice._

_It knows everything…_

_Well. There's a statement with some truth. _

_I hate you, he thought decisively._

_Yes, you've said that before._

_What? No, I haven't._

_In previous conversations._

_This is the first time I've talked to you!_

_It is not._

_What?_

There was a feeling of amusement in his tone. You_ do not remember, because you are weak and I took your memories. I even took special measures to create false ones. Always you have believed them. Always you have neatly forgotten my existence. But it is merely a gate, and I can hand you the key._

_Stop talking like_ _that._

It laughed- a harsh, grating sound that could be mistaken for the dying cry of a goose. _You do not sound like yourself now, why should I have to sound like myself? It is better for me this way. Better to mask my identity._

_Shut up-_

_Here is the key, Germany, or should I say my host?_

With that he took hold of Germany's body, twisting control away from him. He did it slowly, forcing his arms to stay down by his sides, then pinning his legs in place. Slowly, slowly, Germany lost the ability to do anything but look through his eyes and think_._

_This is how you were for the past days, when I was using you to kill those other countries, said the other mind. I simply took control much, much faster than I just did. It was very easy._

_Why would you-_

The other mind walked him over to his desk and sat down. _That should be saved for another day. Let's see how strong you are… I never got the chance to really fight in your body._

_What are you going to-_

The other mind stood up and went over to the bookcase. After carefully stacking the books on the floor- _Some books are keepers of knowledge, yours might be worth saving, _it explained- he lifted up the empty wooden bookcase and hurled it across the room.

_Wonderful!_ the other mind exclaimed._ Strong, very strong._

_What are you doing_?

It didn't even answer, only walked across the room to the broken bookcase and directed his hands to tear it apart.

Germany bit back his thoughts, refusing to let the pain show. The other mind laughed his dying-animal laugh again, ignoring the splinters and the blood that was running freely down his hands. _You are strong, very strong. It will be a pleasure to fight in this body._

_What is- why are you doing this? _  
_  
_The other mind laughed, spinning him around and hammering his fists down onto his desk. It cracked, creating a small valley where he had hit, and spidering cracks across the rest of the desk.

_This is a good body,_ it mused._ I like it._

_You don't belong here, I don't know what you are-_

_You don't know who I am? _The other mind sounded hurt. _Very well. I will show you_.

_Make it fast, _Germany growled.

_Here is your second key._

Quickly, very quickly, images flickered by.

Groups of people lined up against walls, their faces dirty. A man stood ready with a gun, shooting them down.

A gas chamber disguised as a shower.

Armies lined up across a barren plain.

A whip that was well-used, fitting perfectly in his hand.

An image of a man.

A swastika emblazoned on a red flag.

Fires burning villages of unwanted people.

Him, ordering soldiers to shoot at will. It didn't look like him at first- his eyes were red like Prussia's, but he was wearing something else, something even less recognizable. A black cloak and hat.

Him again. But he was much smaller- maybe just a child?- lying unconscious on a battlefield. He was wearing the same cloak and hat, except smaller.

Him. Standing in a field of flowers at sunset. A slight breeze- he could tell because some flowers were bent. A maid, arms full of flowers.

A large house. Him standing behind a wall, watching the same maid clean the floors. Looking guiltily at his dirty shoes.

Blackness.

_Those last scenes aren't you, Germany._

_Who are they? They look like me-_

_They are not you. They are me. You know who I am._

_What? No. No._

Suddenly Germany had control of his body again. He couldn't help what he did next.

He screamed.

* * *

Italy couldn't help it either. He had to see if Germany was okay.

His feet were light, making no noise as he walked to the study. He placed his hand on the doorknob.

Then he hesitated.

What if Germany would hate him for going into the study? He wasn't allowed in, what if Germany was angry and- and killed him?

What if Germany had hurt himself?

Italy had succeeded in scaring himself. He turned the doorknob- surprised that it wasn't locked- and went in about two steps.

Germany was on the floor, kneeling, staring at his hands. They were bloody and a few splinters were embedded in them. Italy could see why- his bookcase was lying across the room, shattered into too many pieces to repair. His desk was also ruined- the top had been hit with something heavy enough to send cracks and other rifts across it. Books were scattered across the room, as were their pages.

It was a scene of destruction.

"Italia," Germany said. His voice was soft, tired, almost growling but also pleading. "Italia, get away from me."

"No!" His reply startled himself. "I- Your hands are hurt, Germany. We need to-"

"Please get away from me."

"Why-"

Germany looked up at Italy, except his eyes didn't look right. They were- they weren't purple, but they were flickering between red and ice-blue.

"Italia…" Germany said again. "Please."

"No!" Italy said again. "You- you aren't yourself, Germany. You know you need your hands to be treated- you aren't being reasonable."

He took Germany's bloody hands in his, turning them over, gently feeling for breaks in the bone. There didn't seem to be any.

"Germany," he said, "let's go get your hands washed."

He led Germany out of the room to the bathroom and placed his hands in the sink. Germany washed them mechanically, then dried them on a towel.

Italy could see them much more clearly now. There were cuts and scrapes everywhere, and a few brown splinters that he pulled out gently.

"Germany," he said quietly, "I'm not going to leave you."

Germany looked broken, but for a second, his eyes fixed on Italy's. They were normal again for just that second- a beautiful icy blue.


	15. White Rose, White Wall

Germany couldn't sleep anymore.

He'd thought he had it bad a few days ago, when his problems didn't directly involve him. Now he was almost afraid to go to sleep. How could he trust himself if he knew there was some- some monster waiting to take him over?

No, he couldn't trust himself. He couldn't let himself fall asleep, and even though the other mind had proven that he wouldn't remember if anything happened, it made Germany feel a little better to stay up. He looked up at the wall clock. It read 11:24 PM in glowing green numbers.

His vigil was almost halfway over.

Germany got up, heading to the kitchen to make himself coffee. He was getting tired; sometimes drinking coffee helped him stay awake to the point where his vision sharpened. Heaven knew he needed it right now.  
He stepped toward the coffee machine, but he bumped into something, something soft that yelped.

He sighed, pretty sure what it was, and flicked the light on.

Italy blinked at the sudden light. "Germany?" he squeaked.

"Italia, what are you doing awake?" he asked.

"I- I could ask the same to you," Italy said. [Germany thought the stutter in his voice was a little nervous and a little cute.]

"Do you have a reason for staying up this late?"

"Yes! I do!" Italy said. His voice was full of conviction.

"What is it then?"

"Well, I…" Italy looked down. "You're going to think I'm stupid, Germany…"

"Mm."

"I…"

"Hurry with it."

"I… I wanted…"

"Wanted what?"

Italy shook his head. "NevermindI'mactingstupidsoignoremenowgoodnight!" he suddenly shouted. Spinning around, he took off as if England was chasing him.

Germany thought he could hear a sad tone in the smaller nation's voice as he fled.

* * *

"What the hell," England growled. "What. The. Hell."

France glared at him with a hate that would never have normally been there.

These weren't normal times, though, and that was hard for England to process. The entire situation was hard to process.

Why would France ever want his spellbook?

"You're not making sense," he said aloud.

"I know I sound crazy-"

"You are crazy."

"-but it is like my last wish. Please, only for a few minutes, Angleterre?"

_Last wish? Where did he get that idea?_ England wondered._ Is he- no, not even France is like that. Japan I understand, but France…_

He shook his head. "I don't even know what you're going to do with it, so no. I can't let you see it."

France glared at him again. "Very well, Angleterre…"

He turned around and left. England watched him go almost sadly.

As he went back to his work, he noticed a long-stemmed white rose on the table.

* * *

"What? What?" Canada asked.

Kumaniro- wait, was it that or Kumakiro?- twisted in his arms. "Who are we talking about?"

"France," Canada said quietly. [Quieter than usual, which made him near-impossible to hear.] "Apparently he tried to commit suicide."

He went back to talking into the phone. "Yes… I am related to Francis… Francis Bonnefoy? Yes. Should I… Now? I can't, not now… Please understand, it takes quite a while to fly there… I'll be there as soon as I can."

Canada hung up the phone, hands trembling. "Kumaniro… We're going to France."

/

France looked like he was already dead, but Canada knew that it wasn't so. Still, he was scared when he entered the hospital room.

It was white; white was everywhere. The walls were painted white with no paintings or decorations; the bed and sheets and pillow were white; the window showed an empty field covered in snow. Canada thought that it would be torture to stay in that room, but Kumanario thought that it was fun- his fur was the same color as everything.

He put Kumanakio down and sat next to France. A nurse hovered by the door, clutching a clipboard. She began to speak very quickly as Canada took France's hand.

"Mr. Bonnefoy has some very serious burns, mostly third-degree, and the others second-degree. They were mostly around his chest and torso- thankfully they didn't reach his lungs or throat. As far as the doctors could tell, about half looked to be self-inflicted…"

The nurse droned on as Canada thought the situation over.

France had gone somewhat- no, he had gone insane over the past few days. He had been a reason for stress until a caretaker had been assigned to him, then Canada had stopped worrying.

He hadn't even known that France had tried this until today, the third day after.

"… and by all human reasoning, this man should be dead," the nurse concluded. She looked up at Canada.

"Mr. Williams, do you know anything about this?"

He looked down, studying his hand, the way it curled around France's, just stalling for time. Should he tell her? Did the humans deserve to know now?

Canada glanced at France's expressionless face and made his decision.

"No, I don't," he said.

The nurse nodded, scribbling something on her clipboard. "And-"

"Please leave," Canada said quietly. "I… I don't want to talk right now."

She nodded, still scribbling as she walked out. "Of course…" she muttered.

Canada sat in the white room, holding France's hand, feeling alone and for once in his life, too visible.

* * *

A/N: Sorry, that was kinda forced out of my mind too fast… It's so short… But I'll try to make them longer.

*ahem*

Mostly the main story will focus on Italy, Germany and his little problem. Other countries are going to be something like scene breaks or filler.

Am I supposed to tell you that? Sorry~ Bye for now~


	16. Filler the Second: Nordic Meeting

A/N: Another filler chapter, because I'm feeling kinda depressed and I needed to lighten my mood. This is pretty much plotless random stuff again, and it'll ruin the mood of the fic, like 9.5. It's also less entertaining. [I think.] Warnings- breaking fourth wall and randomness.

* * *

"Is there a reason for this meeting, Denmark?" Norway asked. He put a hand on the table as if he was going to rise and leave. "If there isn't, I must go."

Finland put a hand over Norway's. "Hear him out," he said quietly. "It might be important."

"Knowing Denmark, it isn't," Norway said under his breath. "I'm going to leave."

But he sat there, waiting for Denmark to speak. Finland smiled slightly and removed his hand.

Sweden took it in his own and held it; warmth spread from his fingers to Finland's cold ones.

"You're a good peacekeeper," he said.

"E-eh? Really?"

"Mm."

Denmark suddenly stood up. "All right! Nordic Five! We're here because I called this meeting!"

"Obviously," Iceland muttered. Mr. Puffin screeched agreement.

"Anyway," Denmark continued, "I've spoken to America a bit."

"When?" Finland asked. "We haven't been mentioned in this fanfiction before, have we?"

Norway shouted something unintelligible as Finland finished his question, creating a clear shield-bubble with his magic as shards of broken fourth wall rained everywhere. The Nordic Five were protected well, even though parts of their table were shredded [fourth wall was quite sharp].

"Finland," Denmark muttered, "think before you speak next time."

Finland refrained from saying that Denmark never did, looking somewhat hurt. "I'm sorry, it just slipped out."

"I move we kill the author after the conclusion of this chapter," Iceland said. "That could've hurt us badly."

"My magic protected you," Norway said. "It wouldn't have hurt you anyway."

"Yeah, well…" Iceland said. "It's not like the author is very nice to us. She hasn't mentioned us once before now."

"So?" Sweden said. "'S not like we've been getting hurt like the others."

"Others have been mentioned and not hurt," Iceland said stubbornly.

"Who?" Norway challenged.

Iceland was quiet.

"Admit it," Norway said. "I'm right, so call me big brother. Or at least brother."

"No."

"Brother."

"I don't want to!"

"Brother."

"No!"

Norway sighed. "I move against. I don't want to kill the author. At least she's mentioning us now."

"Yeah," Denmark said. "Back to my-"

"Wait, what about Russia?" Iceland asked suddenly. "He hasn't been mutilated."

"Mentally, he has. Besides, there are people who thought he was the killer. It's bad for the image," Finland said.

"Good point," Denmark said.

"Although I agree, I must say that I would like a larger role as well…" Norway began.

"Didn't the author say that the story would focus more on Germany and Italy now?" Finland asked.

All five of them jumped as remains of fourth wall began to rain on them again. Norway stood up and pointed a shaking finger at the bubble, concentrating on keeping it intact and saying something under his breath.

The 'rain' stopped after a minute or so.

Sweden glared at Denmark as the wild-haired nation opened his mouth, silently daring him to say a word against Finland. It was a dare that he didn't take.

"That was… unexpected," he said nervously.

Sweden's gaze cooled and he nodded a bit.

"I'm- I'm sorry," Finland said. "I didn't think that-"

"None of us did. It's all right," Iceland said. "I still want to kill the author for it. And the last time."

"I told you," Norway said, "my magic is fine. It'll protect us."

"You look pale," Denmark noted. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sur-"

"I said I'm fine."

"I'm just-"

"I've had a troll beat you up before. I'm sure he'll be glad to do it again."

Denmark winced, remembering the sensation of being pummeled by fists seemingly made of air as Norway smirked from a good five feet away. It wasn't something that he wanted to feel again. "I get it."

Norway nodded and sat back in his chair.

He did look a little tired, Iceland thought. He was looking so strained lately…

"Anyway!" Denmark shouted. "As we've been discussing somewhat, we've been largely ignored by the author! I- and Iceland as well- believe that the author deserves to die after this chapter is finished."

"I thought it was just filler, and-" Finland started, but Sweden clapped a hand over his wife's mouth before he could continue.

Iceland gave him an appreciative nod. "Thanks."

"Mm," Sweden said, lifting his hand.

"Sorry," Finland said.

"I'm against the killing," Norway said flatly. "I don't think we should waste time on things like that."

"I'm against it as well," Finland said. "I think things may turn for the better."

"No vote," Sweden growled. "I abstain."

Denmark groaned. "Please, one of you? I really think she deserves it. Besides, she hasn't updated this in forever."

"At least she did now," Iceland muttered as the fourth wall began falling again.

Norway staggered, one hand clutching at the table, the other pointing at the bubble. It faltered for a second, then stayed strong.

The rain stopped faster than last time, only lasting for twenty seconds or so.

Denmark caught Norway as he fell. The bubble disappeared completely with a slight 'pop'.

"Norway. Norge. Look at me," he ordered, fighting panic. "Don't pass out."

"I'm fine…" he mumbled, eyes closed. His curl was drooping and almost touching his shoulder.

"No, you're not. You're overworked or something. You need to rest."

"Who's responsible all of a sudden…?"

"That doesn't matter. Oh god, Nor, you're not going to pass out. No, no-"

His words had no effect. Norway was obviously fighting it, but he went limp anyway.

"He's out. Oh god…"

"What?" Iceland demanded. "Wha- why?"

"Maybe magic overuse," Finland suggested.

Sweden shook his head. "He's cast greater spells and been perfectly fine."

"Maybe…" Denmark said.

"I think it's the war," Iceland said. "Protecting all five of us, on top of the stress from the war…"

"Yeah. That's it. Okay. Okay. Let's get him to my house. Come on," Denmark said.

"Why are you so responsible now?" Iceland muttered.

But he stood up and took a key ring from his pocket. "I drove from the airport, come on."

The five of them worked together to get Norway to Denmark's house; for the time, they were as one. Finland had Norway recovered within a day.

Their corner of the world functioned well even as the rest of the world fell apart.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry.… filler and all… I'm working on the next one. I promise. Sorry for not updating in a while.

Anyway, hope you liked it. Norway was just a bit overworked and stressed. He's fine.

For now.

Dun dun dun…

See you in the next chapter!


	17. The Rain

The moon moved quite quickly compared to the sun.

Of course, Germany wasn't able to look at the sun directly, but he still felt that the moon was faster.

It was pretty, too, white and silvery at the same time. It reminded him of the vanilla gelato Italy had once given him.

Gelato… Gelato was good. It was light, too. Sweet, delicate flavor… Quite nice…

Germany's mind wandered as he looked out the window of his study.

It was his third night staying up and so far he hadn't had any, er, issues. The other mind seemed content to simply be known, constantly whispering to him, threatening the world.

He was very jumpy and nervous these days, to say the least. He refused to let anyone do anything for him and also refused to let anyone see him.

He did watch the news, though. Someone in France had apparently attempted suicide, setting his house and the land around it on fire, although one Matthew Williams had stepped up and taken care of the problem. England was under a 'cease-fire' with France for the time being- both sides were quiet about their reasons. America was also under a temporary truce with Canada.

The Nordic countries seemed to be fine. That was surprising, but at least some were… hmm… safe.

The Baltics were still fighting Russia. Poland's resources were quite exhausted, but they were still at it. Germany almost admired Russia- he also held the Asians at bay.

Who else was there? Germany wondered. He sighed; if there were others he couldn't remember what happened to them recently. His sleep-deprived nights were getting to him.

And he was pretty sure that the other mind would as well.

* * *

Italy knew something was wrong with Germany, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Germany refused to be seen. He took his meals in his study and didn't let Italy- or anyone- into it.

Italy didn't know if he could take it.

He'd stayed alive, telling himself that it was for Germany, that it was enough, that he wasn't lonely.

He was.

His brother was gone. Though he had been snappish and grumpy most of the time, Italy missed him.

He needed him.

One last day, he thought. Just one last day…

* * *

The sky was a dark orange as the sun set, dotted with storm clouds that moved closer to Germany. He watched them through the window, wondering how he'd manage to stay up another night. He was so tired, and he needed to see someone, talk to someone that wasn't a business official.

He was lonely.

Rain began to patter on the window, almost talking to him, whispering. Calling him.

He went outside.

How was it that the sun had completely set in the time it took for him to be outside? He couldn't see, all that his eyes could make out were blurred figures. But he knew all the shapes.

The hedge, the flower beds, the little garden chairs tipped over in this drizzle. The table, standing alone, bearing the wind. Trees that grew around it all, tended carefully with his own hands.

He hadn't seen them in a long time.

Their shapes were still familiar to him, though, except that the trees looked a bit… sad. Their trunks leaned down, like a weeping willow would, and their leaves murmured in the rain.

Being outside felt good, he decided. The rain felt wonderfully cool on his face. His hair was plastered against his skull, but he didn't mind- he didn't care what he looked like now.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. He hadn't seen lightning, though, and decided that it was safe enough to go sit on the low wall, beside a few trees.

There was a shape there already. Battle instinct and constant jumpiness caused his right hand to snap down to his whip [he didn't keep a gun on him, he was afraid that his other mind would use it].

He walked closer.

There was a panicked 've' and a cry of "Don't hurt me! Don't shoot me! My white flag is wet and I can't wave it, it won't show, but here! Here it is! I surrender! Don't kill me!"

A flash of white broke the dark monotony and Germany involuntarily smiled. "It's just me, Italia."

"Ve... Germany?"

And suddenly he was tackle-hugged. "Germany! Germany! It's you! I haven't- you haven't come into the main house for ages, and I missed you, I haven't seen you, and I was… I was so…"

His voice dwindled away with the last few words, and Italy hugged Germany tighter. "I was so scared…"

"Scared of what?" Germany asked, squirming a bit; he was trying to release himself from Italy's grip. Italy let him go but bounced on his feet. "Of you being gone… that I wouldn't get to ever talk to you or see you again. But I know that's not true now," he said happily, and turned to the rain. Lifting his face, he laughed and spun around, feet leaving their marks on the wet grass.

Germany smiled again, but it quickly faded.

He felt something- something pushing against his still body, urging him to move. Felt a hand tighten around his whip. Saw himself with those red eyes, beating Italy, watched him sob and press into the ground, saw him lying in a pool of blood.  
He shook his head, fighting it. He heard a laugh.

He shook his head again and blinked. There, Italy was safe and fine, he wouldn't be hurt. Especially not by him, whether it was Germany or the other mind moving his hands.

Germany promised himself that.


	18. Awakening

The first thing that Germany noticed when he woke up- well, it was that he had woken up. He hadn't had to wake up in three days.

He was lying on his side, facing his window [which had beige curtains hanging in front of it]. He was lying in a bed- his bed.

It was so soft.

It was warm, too- warmer than he remembered it. Was that imagination, or was it-

"Ve~ Germany, you're awake!"

"Italia!" he exclaimed, and jumped out of bed, more out of shock than an actual thought-out movement. Of course, his feet tangled in the blankets and he fell to the ground with a heavy 'thud'.

"Ve~"

Germany sat up on the floor, rubbing his arm where he'd landed on it. "Italia… what are you doing in my room? What am I doing here?"

Italy looked puzzled. "You need to sleep. Even if something's bugging you- no, especially if something's bothering you."

"But-"

"No," Italy said, gently but firmly. "You needed it."

Italy's changed, he thought slowly. He wouldn't have had the strength to do this before. Is it the war, changing him?

As if to negate his thoughts, Italy laughed- the same laugh he'd had before. "Besides, I have proof. You overslept by a lot, Germany! It's one in the afternoon. Even I don't do that- I take siestas for a reason."  
He hopped off the bed, carefully skirting Germany's place on the floor, and went to the window. "Ve~ Can I open these?"

"Yes. Go ahead."

Italy flung them open, ve-ing happily as sunlight streamed into the room. Light danced on his hair, on his face, reflected his smile. "Everything's always a lot better with sun, don't you think?"

Germany nodded and stood up. His stomach was growling. "I'm going to go get changed and all- then, do you want to eat breakfast together? Lunch for you, I mean."

Italy nodded. "Breakfast."

"No, this is your second meal," Germany corrected.

"No," Italy said. "I watched you sleep. I didn't eat."

"Italia-"

Italy giggled. "It was kinda fun. You talk in your sleep- I've told you that before- but this time you were quiet." He skipped to the door. "I'm going to cook, so hurry."

* * *

Germany hadn't realized how much he missed… well, everything.

Over their late breakfast, Italy told him about the past three days.

"Everyone was still fighting," he said. "None of their reasons were proven- it was all accusations over the killer. I talked to Latvia- he said they were fighting Russia so they could free themselves from the killer, and America and England both thought that the other one was a murderer…"

Italy trailed off, taking a large bite, and let out a small sigh. "And France… Well, he's getting better, both him and the country. Canada said so. The rest of the world… They've stopped fighting long before us. They have more sense," he said bitterly.

He didn't seem to want to talk anymore, concentrating on his food fiercely.

Germany couldn't help staring at him over the table. The war really had changed Italy- not his fighting habits, but his sense of responsibility. And something else…

Italy had been much like a child before, but that new, bitter tone in his voice made Germany suspect that Italy was now more of an adult.

Italy looked up as he swallowed the last bits of his breakfast, and giggled. "You look like you're trying to balance a budget."

"What?"

"Nothing," he said cheerfully. His curl bounced as he stood up, picking up his plate. "Are you done? I can't tell."

Germany looked down at his mostly-gone food, then nodded. "It was great, Italy."

"Really? Good~"

"The only thing-"

His voice caught. That would never happen again.

"What is it, Germany?"

"It's just- For a second, I wanted-"

Italy was now looking at him with concern in his eyes. "You don't usually say things like that… What is it?"  
"I… Never mind. It's not practical. I'll do the dishes," he said, standing up. He took his plate to the sink mechanically.

Italy trailed behind him, faintly protesting, then compromising- they did the dishes together. It was easy.  
There were only two sets of silverware, two cups, two dishes, after all. Only two of the Axis were left.  
The trio would never eat a meal together again.

* * *

Canada laughed as France continued his joke.

"And then I see the beautiful girl, simply standing there- she asks me, 'What are you doing?' and I have to tell her-"

There was a knock at the door, interrupting France, who took it in stride. In the same breath, he called, "Come in!"

The door opened slowly and a familiar 'cheep' sounded. The sound was followed by a small yellow bird, and then by the nation-who-was-not-a-nation.

In other words, Prussia had come to visit.

"Hey, Amerida, I-" he began, striding into the room.

He stopped short as he saw France. "You're-"

"Not mentally ill and somewhat recovered, yes," France said. His voice was back to its usual purr-like sound. "Did you miss me?"

"Well, I thought..." Prussia trailed off. "Anyway, it's awesome to see you normal. Not as awesome as me, of course, but awesome." He turned his attention to Canada, whose outline was becoming thinner, just a bit. "Hey. You. Who are you again?"

"Just a friend," he said quickly.

"Canada," France said at the same time.

Prussia looked from one to the other. "Wait… You're- Oh! Right! You're Alfred, right? Canada?"

Said nation shook his head. "Actually, I'm just Canada… Matthew Williams…"

Prussia shrugged. "Whatever." Striding to a chair, he flopped down in it. "Anyway, France, I came to bring you news. The war- and all its skirmishes and spin-off fights, actually- you've missed them. They're over."

"What?" France demanded. His gaze shot to Canada, then back to Prussia. "Really, this isn't a good joke-"  
"It's not a joke," Canada said, as close to anger as he could get. "Why- why do you think you're better now? If- if it weren't-"

His voice trembled, and France could see little tears forming in his eyes.

"If it weren't for the war stopping, both you and your country would've fallen," Prussia said seriously. "And your human body wouldn't have lasted like mine. You'd have died."

On the last word Canada sniffled and looked away, holding Kumakiko- no, was it Kumafuro?- closer than he would've liked. The bear twisted out of his owner's arms and crawled to the floor.

France reached over and gently wrapped Canada into a hug. "It's okay now," he said quietly. "It's okay..."

"You don't know that!" Canada protested. "You- you don't even remember yourself when you were broken- you don't remember, you can't say..."

"Prussia said that the war is over, love," France said. "If it is, then it is okay. It will be okay. All that we have to do now is rebuild, and that will not be so hard."

"You don't know that," he repeated.

France didn't answer, only holding him closer. The warmth of his body was familiar to Canada- memories of good-night hugs, patching up after fights, that last parting...

"I do not regret letting you go," France whispered. "But maybe... Maybe now we may become closer again."

Canada rested his head against France's shoulder. "Maybe."

* * *

Hungary was surprised when her phone beeped.

She turned it on, flicking through old messages until she got to the newest one.

It was from Prussia, with a picture attached. The message read 'Hey thought u'd like to c new action, Looks like Frnce and sumone r gonna get hot'

She struggled to read the chatspeak, and eventually gave up, just looking at the picture.

Canada must've been the 'someone'. He and France were embracing, both with eyes closed. Canada's face was tearstained, but he was smiling…

Prussia might be right, she decided. I should get to work…

* * *

A/N: I really didn't mean to put in Franada. I really didn't. It just felt… right.


	19. Short Days

"What? What?!" England exclaimed.

"Yep. I can assure you… You're the last one left, England-nii-san," Italy said. "Everyone else's already signed the treaty. Really! The attacks have stopped. They won't happen."

"How do you know?" England asked suspiciously. He swept a look up and down the little Italian. "You're not…"

Italy jumped, looking hurt. "Why would I kill… Why would…" His lip trembled as he bit it, thinking of his brother.

England nodded and patted Italy's back. "Just making sure. You're positive? You figured it out and nobody will die?"

Italy nodded. "So sign the treaty, please please please…" he said, holding out a copy and a pen. England took them and looked the paper over.

It was pretty good [Italians in general were good at writing peace treaties], and pretty basic. It stated that the countries wouldn't get into wars or battles over accusations of being the murderer and the like. There was more, but England didn't really care about that. He wanted to stop fighting- especially stop fighting America.

He signed his name and human name with a flourish, then thought of something. "Does my boss need to sign this?"

Italy shook his head and pointed to a column of signatures. "He already did- everyone did. I told you, you were the last one."

England nodded, glancing over the treaty again. His eyes caught on a small detail.

"There's going to be a world meeting? Tomorrow? Where?"

Italy motioned for him to keep reading.

"Fr- that bloody frog! His place?!"

Italy nodded, a ghost of a smile flickering on his face. "He's better now. It'll be like before..." he said.  
Holding the treaty to his chest, the Italian smiled and walked away to a waiting car.

* * *

Germany was trimming the trees in the garden when Italy returned.

He was working steadily, cutters flashing in the afternoon sunlight, and didn't notice when Italy came up to him. He had to be poked before he turned around. "What is-"

"I got England to sign it, Germany!" Italy said excitedly. "Look, look! The wars are officially over!"

"That's great, Italia," he said with a small smile.

"I'm going in for lunch," the other nation continued. "Are you hungry?"

"No. I ate already."

"Okay, see you then, Germany~" Italy said, skipping off.

Germany felt both better and worse when he was gone.

The voice in his mind wouldn't stop. It didn't even talk to him these days, but it did torture him subtly- it walked him around his house at night. He'd wake up on the couch or at the table, not sure of where he was, with a horrible headache.

Several times he'd woken up in a chair near Italy's bed, almost like the other mind was watching over Italy. It was strange- he'd heard threats to everyone else but never to him, never to the small, brunette nation.

The voice was doing something. He was sure.

The question was, what?

* * *

It pained him to feel the body's emotions.

The body felt something toward Italy. His Italy. He didn't know if Italy felt anything for the body- he wouldn't, surely not- but Italy would still love him, right?

After all these years, would he even remember? After these long, long years thinking that he was dead. He wasn't dead, of course, but did Italy know that?

Would he remember their promise?

Italy hadn't known him during the war, either. He'd isolated himself then.

But he was back. He was here, completing his mission. Fulfilling his new purpose.

He'd done it well, too.

Italy would remember, right?

Right?

* * *

A/N: Augh, the shortness. And when was it that I last updated…? *feels horribly guilty*


	20. In His Eyes: The Other Mind

The world meeting was hectic, to say the very least. It almost felt like old times, but there were a few differences.

For example, Canada was now somewhat noticed- he'd fought well, after all, and was constantly by France's side. He didn't take part in the French-English arguments, though, long and loud and somewhat stupid as they were. Cancel that, the entire room was loud and stupid- nations arguing, reconciling, fighting again, a few hugging.

Germany wished that he could leave early. It was great that the war was over. It was great that Italy had gotten everyone to sign the peace treaty.

But there was still that… that voice in his head, and his sleepwalking was making him lock himself in his room and sometimes even that didn't work, and Japan was gone and Romano and Spain and Austria were too and Italy looked like he was going to be next…

He stared into the weak yellow of the wall for a while, then realized what he'd been thinking.

Oh god.

He stopped just staring, rewound his thoughts, so to speak.

Had he just… he'd just threatened Italy, hadn't he?

Oh god oh god he'd promised he wouldn't let the smaller nation die oh god oh god he was dizzy now the room was too loud oh god he was going to be sick.

He staggered up from his chair, not bothering to push it back. Pressing his lips together, he went for the bathroom and locked himself into a stall.

The next thing he knew he was retching.

It felt horrible, acid washing up through his mouth, making him feel even more tired, if that was possible these days.. He checked his economy over and found nothing wrong. Was it just his body acting up, then?  
Probably.

Germany swallowed, trying to get the horrible taste out of his mouth, and flushed. He didn't wait around and watch it, though. He walked to the row of sinks, knees unsteady and maybe not capable of holding him up. Germany gripped the edge of the counter where the sinks were mounted. The world swayed around him. Feet- his feet- scrabbled on the ground, trying to find a firm place to stand, one that didn't move.. Fingers trembled- was he growing afraid? Of what?- and he swallowed again.

Turning on the sink, Germany washed his hands methodically, then splashed a bit on his face. The cool water helped a little, but only that- just a little. It was enough. It had to be enough. He glanced at the mirror as he dried his hands.

The nation looked terrible. That was the best way to put it. He couldn't even tell how bad it was- he was dizzy again- agh, he lost his footing- world spinning too fast- losing it- felt sick- no- falling- face pressed against cold tile- blackness.

* * *

He flexed his fingers experimentally. This was nice- he hadn't even had to wait until the other one fell asleep. Energy flowed through him. He was powerful now.

What would he do? he wondered for a second. Kill- no, that would lead to his body being imprisoned and would set his plans back quite a bit. Just sit there? That was stupid.

Or was it? He could- he could be close to- yes, yes, that was enough. It would be enough. Italy was already-  
Yes. That was his second purpose. If he couldn't do his first, the second would do.

He turned back to the sinks before he left. With a small sigh of disgust, he wetted a paper towel and wiped off his face, then followed with a dry towel. Checking his appearance over one last time- he looked somewhat acceptable now- he left the bathroom.

Italy was waiting for him, looking panicked. He calmed down when he caught sight of him.

"Germany~ It's nice to see you're okay. I was worried."

He kept quiet. Should he have said something? Could he? His jaw seemed to be locked all of a sudden.

After all these years…

He just nodded and took Germany's seat, searching through old memories of world meetings. Ah, there… a prime example.

Germany was a sort of peacekeeper if things got too out-of-hand. He didn't take notes but simply remembered things. Hmm... Usually he was counted on as a good nation these days... Anything else? No? Good.

The meeting officially began, and he was ready for it.

Or so he thought.

* * *

It was only an hour or so later when he snapped.

"I hate world meetings," he growled to himself. A hand was clenched in his lap, knuckles white and nails digging into his palm. He didn't feel the pain.

Italy didn't notice; the brunet nation was too busy not paying attention to anything. It was so hard to ignore him, so hard not to pull a small hand into his.

Gah. He was getting sidetracked.

The meeting wasn't even half over yet.

* * *

After the world meeting, he took the body to its home and locked himself in its room. It was hard, very hard, not to speak to Italy. He couldn't, anyway, it would ruin the plan. He had to follow the plan, no matter how hard it was...

Conveniently, Italy was busy, for one he had work to do and was doing it. He was surprised that this Italy could work at all.

He couldn't stand this.

He couldn't stand not being close to him. Why? Why couldn't he restrain himself? Why, even after he'd sacrificed so much to come back? Why did he still feel it?

It hurt. He couldn't stop it. After all the training, the pain, the numbness that came with endurance, Italy was so close and so far.

So far.

He growled at himself, utterly frustrated, and slumped over on the bed. Sleep was welcome, especially after that horrible, terrible world meeting.

* * *

A/N: I'm moving to another state sometime this year. Updates will probably not go well, although I'm writing it, if you're worried.

Also~ You know who he is, right? I've dropped so many clues. Too many. After I finish this fic I'm going to re-write it... But until then, you have the multitude of clues I've given you. You should know who it is. If you don't, I envy your innocence.


	21. Dreaming: His Past, His Hell

The tall man eyed him warily. "You're the second," he said. His voice was low and rough, not like anything that he'd expected, nothing like what he'd been warned for. He'd been warned for an icy, harsh shell of a man. What was this? A statue?

"State your reasons for being here. I don't have eternity."

"I wish to take up training. To return to the world as a nation."

"Hm." The noise came from the tall man, who was giving him another sweeping look. "It will be hard."

"Yes, sir. I know that."

"It will be painful."

"Yes, sir."

"Hm," he- said? Yes, said- again. A sadistic smile appeared on the tall man's lips. "Well, then. If you're ready for it. What do you know?"

"I… I'm not sure, sir," he said, stumbling over his words for the first time since he'd come. "I lost most of my memory…"

"I suppose it can't be avoided. The first had his gone as well. It doesn't matter. They'll come back once you join with your other half. You are another half, correct?"

He nodded. "Part of Germany."

"Good, good."

He did not like the way that the man was looking at him. Like an animal, maybe, lined up for slaughter.

"What were you taught?"

"Basic defense. Basic and a bit of advanced infantry training. How to work with cavalry. Diplomacy. History."

"Anything else?"

Taught how to love by the maid in the house.

"No, sir."

"Good."

* * *

"Faster!"

He gritted his teeth and raised his whip again. Flicking it down, he watched in something like horror as it snapped at the practice dummy's legs. It left a long cut on its calf.

"Only a half-second cut from your previous time. I expect more."

"Yes, sir," he said automatically, bringing the whip back. The leather responded well, almost obediently. He liked the feeling of its quiet strength when he wasn't attacking something with it. Fighting with a whip felt so strange sometimes.

"I need you to be in top condition if you are to fulfill my plans. If you are not, I will find and train another. It isn't too hard."

"You won't need to, sir."

He kept his face straight, biting his tongue to distract himself as he watched the tall one smile. That- that shell wasn't a man or a nation. He was a demon.

Why hadn't he realized it before?

"Good. Continue."

The whip descended again.

* * *

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

The tall one inspected his face, searching it for signs of fear. The younger, smaller one kept it as straight as he could. He couldn't fail this test.

"This will be your confirmation," the shell told him. "Assuming, of course, that you intend to take them. Only one has had this before, and afterwards, he has rejected the Way. I have had to kill him, although it did not work out the way I wanted it."

He didn't reply, still standing straight, and waiting for the shell to continue. He knew that he would.

"Do you still wish to take the oaths?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will be bound to my human's desires for the time after I send you into the world. You will swear to carry out his instructions at any cost, completely and fully, until it is done and you are released."

"Yes, sir."

"You swear to follow the Way. You shall become the perfect nation. The pure nation. The only nation."

"Yes."

"Come forth."

He did, taking small, slow steps. The shell pointed a finger at his face, at his eyes.

Only the months and years of pain-endurance training prevented his from screaming as his irises were stained red.

* * *

"You didn't abandon the Way," the shell noted.

The younger nation nodded, standing over the body of his first kill. Of course he hadn't. The Way… this demonic Way… it was the only path that he could walk so that he could return to his love. The only way, as it were. Was that ironic?

"We'll give you a new identity as well," the shell decided. "You're not who you were anymore." He gave it a bit of thought, then nodded. "Starting from today, you are no longer who you were. You will cut off all ties to those you knew, including your ties to your other half. With this you shed your old name. You no longer need one."

Pain gripped his heart. How could he do that?! He was doing this so that he could go back! He didn't want to cut off everything!

"Do you understand?"

He had to lie. He had to pretend. There was no other way. There was only the Way.

"Do you?"

He bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

* * *

After that, so many lessons. So much training. The shell appeared to be very pleased with him. He was losing something. A bit of the… humanity? Yes, he'd taken in the ability to feel for others from humans.

The shell was intent on taking almost everything human away from him.

The shell… He was getting closer to becoming a shell…

* * *

"Ve~ Germany? Germany~ It's time to wake up," a cheerful voice called.

He wasn't Germany.

He was the remnants of the Holy Roman Empire, trained by a demon in whatever hell deceased nations went, and enlisted by Hitler in helping 'purify' the world.

He was the side of Germany who led the Nazis.

He was back.


	22. Forgetting Things

Germany woke up in his own bed, but without an idea of how he'd gotten there.

Ah, dammit, that was getting too familiar. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and at the same time going through his memories.

The meeting, feeling sick, going to the bathroom, throwing up. Falling at the sinks. Blackness.

And- then-

He hit a mental wall of sorts, one that was also too familiar for his taste. That was where the other mind had taken over and used him. There was nothing more that he could 'see'.

What had it done? Had it taken notes on the meeting? Had it even gone back there…?

Germany mostly suppressed the scream of frustration that threatened to spill out of him, instead groaning into his pillow. He heard a light laugh from the other side of the door.

"Ve~ Germany? Germany~" Italy called. "It's time to wake up."

He didn't want to. He groaned again.

There was a pause for a while. Germany wished that the little Italian would just- just leave and be quiet.

"Germany?" Italy said. His voice was quiet, sad, reaching through the door and searching for a friend. Him.

He didn't feel like being friendly.

"Not now," he growled. He'd make it up to him later.

"Okay."

He heard footsteps, then the creak of the pantry door, the clink of ice being taken from the dispenser. Germany allowed himself a small smile. If Italy was still eating he'd be okay, right? He didn't have to worry, right? The- the other mind only used him when he was asleep. He just wouldn't fall asleep. He'd read a manual or something.

It would work, right?

* * *

He didn't move for a while, just lying in the body's bed and thinking. He hadn't returned to his base for more than a week- Superior would be angry, no doubt about it. And he hadn't killed his next target yet.

Superior would be very very angry, but today was the next communication day. He had to go.

He dressed hurriedly and went out of the bedroom. Where was Italy? Italy must not see him go out- it hadn't been a problem during wartime. During wartime he could lie to Italy, say there was a problem here-and-so and it had to be solved. But now he couldn't.

The clock read 12:57; Italy would take his daily siesta soon. It was safe to go. Just in case he checked the brunet nation's bedroom and found him asleep.

Good.  
He set off.

* * *

"… and you haven't gotten your weekly target. I do understand that it may be hard to pull off if you live so closely together. However, you have never taken this long with a kill."

"I will do the kill within this week," he said. "I've begun preparations already. However, the body has an aversion to hurting this particular nation."

He heard a soft 'pfft'. "It should be of no matter to you. Has your training not covered this before?"

"It has. I will do better, Superior."

"Good."

The communication line clicked off, and he sat down in a chair, feeling somewhat drained. Speaking with the Superior took emotion- one of the few he still had left- fear. It also drained emotion from him. It didn't matter. Emotion was not something he needed.

The body felt emotion, though. That made everything difficult. He had to kill within the week, but the body became nauseous when it even thought of hurting this target.

He stood up with a sigh. He had to get to work, to surpress the body more. The Superior could not be denied.

There was such an aversion to this kill, though. Even he felt sick at it. Was it just the body? Was it him? No, it couldn't be him. He had such few emotions. Such few ties to the earth…

Like the reason for his comeback. There was a reason for his return- he couldn't remember it at the moment, he was so tired. Hadn't he come to fill the Superior's human's wishes…?

No. He'd come for his own reason. He'd… come back for someone, hadn't he?

He tightened the lacing on his boots and began the journey back to his body's house.

He'd remember. Of course he would.

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry, everyone! It's been a while since I updated… The chapter didn't want to be written, it seems. And I've been feeling kinda stressed with the move.

But enough about me! This is the twentieth [or twenty-second, if you count filler] chapter~ In either case, it's a good number! [I didn't think this would be this long, see.]  
Thanks to you if you're reading this~ Especially if you've reviewed! Virtual cookies for everyone~~


	23. Half-Filler the Third: Strangeness

A/N: This chapter is only half filler, so if you're skipping filler, I recommend reading this one~

* * *

He couldn't remember- he wanted to lash out in frustration- who had he come back for?- who was he really here for?

* * *

Germany was getting strange thoughts from the other mind.

He couldn't feel them well, but he knew what they were. Not thoughts, exactly, but images. They had a sad feel to them. They flashed, quickly, and then were gone.

It was like lightning. You had to be looking for it before, or you wouldn't see it, and sometimes you wouldn't even see it then.

He tried to ignore it and concentrated on reading his manual. It was the one for the microwave; Italy had somehow gotten it to halfway melt into the wall when heating water.

Seriously.

Now he couldn't uninstall it.

Germany let out a small sigh, but the corners of his mouth pulled up into a smile. For all Italy's new responsibility, sometimes he still acted like he was a child.

It was exasperating, but it was the Italy he knew, and he somewhat… enjoyed it.

* * *

"Ai ya," China grumbled. "Another one? Didn't she say she'd stop at two?"

"Another what?" Korea asked conversationally, doing his best to ignore the sudden rain of fourth wall shards. They tapped on the tin roof, sounding like a combination of glass and rain.

"Another filler chapter," Vietnam clarified. She and Taiwan sat on the porch swing together, rocking back and forth. "Besides, it's only half filler."

"Like, remind me why she's writing it? It doesn't really, like, make sense," Hong Kong said. He picked up a twig and leaned back in his chair, poking the twig out from under the safety of the now-dented roof.

The twig was shredded quite mercilessly.

"Stress relief," China said. "Although I don't understand why she wouldn't just publish just the first part."

"This is entertaining, isn't it?" Korea asked.

"It's filler, however you put it," Taiwan said. "And it breaks the mood between chapters."

The rain began to come down harder, hitting the roof with much more force. Hong Kong flinched. "China, do you have, like, roof insurance?"

He shrugged. "It won't be hard to repair."

"We'll help fix it, anyway," Vietnam said. "Shouldn't we go in now? It is getting worse."

"Yeah. Yeah, we should," Korea said unexpectedly, quietly. "Before it gets too rough."

"You sound like-" Taiwan began, then stopped.

The rain was the only sound for a few seconds, then Korea bolted up and ran inside, slamming the door after himself.

China sighed, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. "He did, but only for a second. Japan never would have done that."

"Running inside? Yeah, he would have, like, walked," Hong Kong said. "Besides, Japan is so much shorter."

"I guess," Taiwan said thoughtfully. "You know, I think Korea's sad."

"What? Why would he be?"

"You are so insensitive," Vietnam muttered. Clearing her throat, she said, "Even if they fought a lot, Japan was still something like a brother to him. To all of us."

"Was," China said bitterly. "I should have been there to help him. At least helped more with the fires."

"Don't you think we all, like, feel that guilt?" Hong Kong asked. "It's not, like, you weren't his only sibling. I bet Korea feels, like, guilty too."

China nodded shortly. Taiwan poked him. "Let's go in, before you start complaining about your old joints. Didn't you say your joints get dislocated more easily in rainy weather?"

"Wh- Taiwan! I'm not that old! And that was only once!"

Vietnam laughed and stood up. The rest of the Asians followed her in. It was a warm house that waited for them, one that didn't seem to have any occupants. Hong Kong looked around. "What, Korea isn't eating already?"

"I think if we just go ahead and eat, he'll come out from wherever he's hiding," Taiwan said.

They all agreed to that. It wasn't until halfway through the after-meal coffee that anyone realized- Korea was still missing.


	24. Being Unwanted, Being Jealous

A/N: I'm really sorry for not updating! I've been so busy with my impending move and school. But I've written two chapters for you~

* * *

Korea was not a stranger to being unwanted.

He knew rather well that he was something of a sixth ranger, despite being only a little younger than China [he counted his years as being part of China's empire as part of his age, nobody else did]. He knew very, very well that China preferred Japan over him.

He didn't want to accept it. The part of his mind that had no logic or reason thought it over and over again: was it true?

Was it true? Had his mask- the carefree, grope-happy mask- slipped too much? Even for a second, that one tiny second where he'd sounded like Japan, Korea had seen the tight lines around China's eyes. He'd seen the pain they held.

If he reminded China of Japan, even just a little bit, which caused China pain, shouldn't he go? Wasn't he just a burden on the other Asians now, with his annoying mask, his dependence on them? He wasn't oblivious. He could sense the tension in a room when he came in.

Did he really just want the best for his family, or did he want an easy way out?

No, Korea was not a stranger to being unwanted. But he was a stranger from acting on his wants.

He pushed the door open.

It was raining. Real rain, clear drops that pattered quietly on the dented tin roof. Why hadn't he brought an umbrella? he wondered.

It was too late to go back; they might notice. He had to leave without them noticing.

Korea bounced on his feet a few times. Apprehension brought a chill to his palms, his spine. He slipped his shoes off and tied their laces together, then tucked his socks inside the toes. He held them upside down so they didn't get soaked.  
His bare feet didn't like the cold of the porch. A sign- time to go, he decided, and darted out from the roof's protection.

* * *

He pressed his cheek against the window.

He'd been taken over the body more often that usual, just to think, to feel. There was this sense of terrible finality- something crushing him. It was probably his next target. The body didn't want to harm it.

There was a little nasty feeling about his new target as well, probably the deadline. He had to do it within six days, and the preparations were only half done. Making it look like an accident would be the hardest part. It would have been so much easier if this kill had been during the wartime-

Something went 'plip' near his face. He jumped, then realized it was only a little raindrop.

It was raining.  
He scolded himself mentally for being so easily startled, then sighed. He should probably give the body its control back. He needed to plan, and the easiest way to do that was to sit in the back of his body's mind and think.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen table. He had much to plan.

* * *

"What do we do?" Vietnam repeated for the fourth time.

They'd searched. They'd yelled for him. They'd tried calling his cell phone, only to have Hong Kong swear rather colorfully when the loud ringtone [incidentally called 'Ring Ding Dong'] blared from the kitchen counter. They'd tried looking for footprints in the case that he'd gone for a walk.

But there were none. If there had ever been any they were washed away by the rain.

"What do you want us to do?" China asked.

Vietnam sighed. "I don't know anymore… Why would he run off like that?"

"Maybe he was, like, lonely?" Hong Kong suggested.

"He has us," Taiwan said miserably. "Why would he go? I mean, he's never done anything like this, has he, China?"

"No." The oldest Asian stared out into the rain. "Maybe he'll come back on his own."

"Do you think so?" Vietnam asked. There was a trace of despair in her voice.

"Yeah. It's, like, peacetime too, so he should be okay."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Taiwan said.

She looked out the window with China but saw nothing, not even hope.

* * *

"_When's the soonest flight out?" Korea asked.  
_  
_"To where?" the ticket attendant asked automatically. A plastic smile was pasted onto her face, hands folded perfectly as she looked up at her latest customer. Korea hated that she looked like a mannequin.  
_  
_"Anywhere not in Asia. America? No, Europe. When's the soonest flight out to Europe?"  
_  
_"Where in Europe, sir?"  
_  
_"Um…" He dug around in his memory. "Italy?"  
_  
_The attendant typed a few commands into her computer. "Tomorrow at eight-thirty in the morning."  
_  
_"Not soon enough," he muttered. "Germany, maybe?"  
_  
_"In three hours."  
_  
_"Greece?"  
_  
_"Ten tomorrow morning."  
_  
_"Can I get a ticket on that flight to Germany?"  
_  
_"Yes, sir."_

/~ll~/

That was how he had gotten onto the plane, but what would he do after he landed?

Korea turned the thought over in his head, playing with it a little. Maybe he could go visit Germany and Italy? Would they tell the other Asians that he was there? That was a possibility, but only that.

He could stay at a hotel for a while, then go visit them. Maybe that would throw the others off? The logical thing to do would be going to a nation's house, so they would check there first.

How long could he stay at the hotel? he wondered. Five days, maybe four? That would work.

Korea nodded to himself, feeling better than he had before. He knew what he was going to do.

And there was probably Internet at a hotel. He could catch up on his most recent drama.

* * *

He needed to know- he couldn't remember at all- he knew that he'd forgotten something- what was it?

* * *

Germany was amazed with Italy.

How could he be so happy all the time? Where did he find the strength to shake off worry and smile? For that matter, could he feel worry?

Sometimes it didn't feel like it, usually on occasions when Germany himself was stressed. Occasions like now.

"Are you sure about this, Italy?" he asked, knowing the answer. He'd asked the same question at least five times before.  
Like the other five times, Italy flashed a smile, so free of worry that Germany almost didn't understand it. "Yep~ It'll be okay, I promise~ Besides, it's just a quick flower or two!"

The blond nation let out a sigh, then turned back to the window. Flashes of green and blue passed by in a blur as they drove to wherever.

"Okay, it's coming up... Stop right here~" Italy said. Germany braked and pulled over onto the side of the road.

Wherever turned out to be by the sea, high up on a cliff or something that made Germany resolve not to look down. The sun fluttered over the waves, creating sparks that lived and died withing seconds. They reminded him of humans- so bright and so short-lived. He waited by the car as Italy walked further out, nearly to the edge of the cliff.

Italy took the petals off two of the flowers he'd brought- a red carnation and a daisy- and let them go to the wind.

"I remember you," he said simply. "I won't ever forget."

The flower stems and his last flower were still in his hands as he walked back to the car. Germany glanced at them. "What are you keeping them for?"

"I don't know."

"And why didn't you take the petals off the rose?"

Italy smiled. "That's not for them, it's for someone else."

Germany felt a sudden stab of emotion- anger? Jealousy? Hurt, even? He wasn't sure.

Why would he feel jealous? He shook it off and started the car, concentrating on driving back.

The rose still bothered him.

* * *

A/N: Yes, there is a reason why Korea is having his little tantrum. Yes, Ring Ding Dong is a real song- by SHINEe. And there will be a pairing. I am very sure that you know what it will be.


	25. Not Knowing Things

Italy was still lonely.

He still kept that gun under his bed, where it cooled and waited and haunted him. It reminded him more of Romano's death, but he couldn't bring himself to take it away just yet.

Even if it wasn't something directly connected to Romano, it was something from the last days of his brother's life. A nasty memory, but it was still a memory.

Now he brushed his fingers along its scarred barrel. It was completely different from the flower petals he'd released yesterday, hard and dark and unyielding. It was cold, too, and it somehow managed to burn his fingers.

Next to it was an old paintbrush from the Renaissance. The wood was rough, and there one one place that he didn't touch [it had given him splinters before]. The bristles were weak now and couldn't paint anymore. He'd used it before, though, countless times.

Near that was a small cardboard box that held an iron cross. He didn't take that out, only touched a corner of the box, and smiled.

Was it bad that he'd kept these things? They were memories; were they good or bad? He couldn't tell anymore. It was so hard to tell these days.

It was hard to tell anything, really. Were they really in peace or were they just on the edge of some long truce? Did contracts mean anything to the countries? Would it last?

He didn't know. He felt like he didn't know anything anymore, even his own self. Especially his own self.

He didn't know.

* * *

He was losing something- he wasn't even sure what it was anymore- who was it? Or what?

* * *

It had been two days now, and Germany could still feel that prickling of emotion.

He didn't even know quite what it was, it was just there and annoying. On top of that he still woke up in strange places- yesterday had been the garden, the other mind must've been running out of ideas- and the day before had been in the hallway.

The strange feeling popped up anytime he saw Italy, so he'd been trying to avoid the brunet nation. Maybe it was working, because the only time he ever saw Italy these days was during meals, and only sometimes then.

That bothered him too, and he didn't know why. What was going on with him? These emotions didn't make sense. He'd tried reading manual after manual and they hadn't helped.

The thing was, even though he felt those stabs of emotion whenever he saw Italy, some parts of them were good. He liked seeing Italy and hated it at the same time.

He didn't understand at all, so he did what he usually did- went to the nearby library to look for another manual on the topic.

* * *

Prussia wasn't exactly worried.

No, he was the Awesome Prussia- why would he need to worry? Even if his little brother wasn't quite as awesome as him, or if that wimp of a nation without any shred of awesomeness at all was looking pale, why would he worry? Prussia didn't know how to worry. Only weak nations knew how to worry.

He knew that, right? He knew that he didn't need to and couldn't worry.

Prussia was a bad liar, even to himself. He couldn't make himself believe the reasons he shouldn't worry about Germany and Italy, couldn't make himself confront them either. He just stayed in the basement and comforted himself with his beer.

He was the Awesome Prussia. He didn't need to worry. He couldn't worry, because he was way too awesome.

Yep, he was the Awesome Prussia...

* * *

The manuals were all conflicting, mostly over what kind of emotion it was. Most of them agreed that it was a strong emotion. Hate? Love, even? Those were the top two ideas.

Did he hate Italy? Germany didn't think so. He'd have kicked the little nation out a while ago. If he hated Italy, would he feel so… so nervous near him?

He didn't know.


	26. The Bonfire

It didn't matter anymore, he decided- there were only four more days until he had to make the kill- he had to prepare and just completely forget this thing.

* * *

"You want to light a bonfire."

The statement crackled a little as it went over the phone; on the other end there was a slight hesitation.

Then- "Yes," Hungary said.

"Why?" Prussia asked, tapping his fingernails on his desk with impatience. The liquid in a nearby bottle danced to the rhythm.

"Do you need to ask? Tomorrow is Austria's birthday."

Oh. Oh. Of course Hungary would want to do something, but- "Why do you need so much firewood? Can't you get it from your own country?"

"Don't be stupid," she said. "I want to light this one at the meeting hall. For Austria, and Spain and Romano. And Japan."

"Which meeting hall?"

"Are you really such an idiot? The island."

Oh, that one. The island that humans didn't know belonged to who. [It belonged to Prussia, of course, who else would take it? It was awesome.]

"Okay," Prussia said after a moment. "How much wood should I bring?"

"A lot."

"How much is a lot?"

"I want to keep it going overnight."

"That's a lot."

"You're not the only one who I'm calling. Don't think you're special."

Prussia smiled and took a drink of his beer. "All right. I'll see you then."

"Bring Germany, knowing you, you'll get drunk."

"He'll bring that unawesome wimp somehow-"

"Ita? Italy? What did you say about him?" Hungary asked. Prussia thought he could hear the faint clink of metal on her end.

"Nothing," he said hastily. "We'll be there."

"Thank you, Prussia," she said, and hung up.

* * *

"Ve~! It'll be fun, right, Germany?" Italy said, more statement than question, bouncing around the blond nation with no intent at all. "And everyone will be there, and we'll all be together again, and we can talk together~"

"What do you mean by everyone?" Germany asked wearily. His pencil hovered over a small map- the locations of several places where there was a good supply of wood- and he circled another.

"Everyone!"

"I don't think Hungary will ask everyone to go," he said, and erased the circle he'd just made. There wasn't enough wood at that place already; he couldn't take from it. Maybe if he took a little extra from-

"Why not?" Italy asked.

"Because not everyone cares," Germany said. For a while he really had thought Italy had matured. Maybe he had, but it seemed to flick on and off like a light switch.

Right now that switch was off. "Why don't they care?" Italy asked. His voice was small-sounding, the way that voices did when their owners were unsure.

"They were enemies of those countries. Or they just don't. I don't think very many countries will come."

"Oh," Italy said, still in that small voice. Germany felt the familiar stab of that- that feeling, and he wanted to tell Italy never mind, it would be okay- but he didn't.

"Just get the wood, Italia, it needs to be transported tonight."

"Okay~" Italy said, again happy, and left the room.

Germany was left with the feeling that he somehow couldn't do anything right.

* * *

The fire was crackling nicely when the German brothers, plus Italy, arrived.

Germany was right, Italy thought, scanning the area around the place. There were only some nations, much less that he'd expected- Hungary was there, of course, and there were the Asians minus Korea and Hong Kong. Greece was there, and England was too, but they were the only ones who weren't directly related to a disappeared nation.

France was there, Italy suddenly noticed, he was sitting across from England. He wasn't wearing his usual flamboyant clothes either, the ones he wore were very simple and darkly colored- Italy couldn't tell if it was brown or black in the light. France was being quiet too, just sitting there, elbows on his knees, and watching the flames.

It wasn't like him. But then again, nations were changing a lot now.

Italy took the seat next to him, and they sat there in silence. The warmth from the bonfire was comforting somehow, the way that people felt like when they were happy. It meant that other people knew and cared and wanted to remember too, he wasn't the only one.

Germany sat down next to Italy, making him jump. France didn't even turn his head. Was he becoming insane again? Italy wondered. Would he try to commit suicide again?

"Don't frown like that," Germany said quietly. Italy turned to face him. "What?"

Slowly, carefully, the blond nation reached out two fingers and touched the frown wrinkles on Italy's forehead. Now that he'd thought about it, he relaxed and the lines disappeared.

"It doesn't suit you," Germany said quietly.

"Since when have you noticed?" Italy quipped, but Germany answered seriously. "A long time."

Italy began to frown again but Germany tapped his forehead. "Please."

"Okay," Italy said uncertainly.

Germany smiled a tiny smile.

* * *

It was past midnight.

The fire was burning down, but every so often Hungary- who didn't seem to need sleep- would put more wood on, and it would blaze up. England dozed off but whenever the fire got stronger, he'd wake for a few minutes. France was still awake, not seeming to need sleep either. He shifted position sometimes but otherwise, he was not moving. Greece was asleep, of course, and a stray cat was curled up on his lap. He petted it in his sleep, which was a little strange, but Greece was Greece about cats. The Asians had left, except for Vietnam, who was doing the same thing that France was. Prussia was asleep, hand curled around an empty bottle of beer. Gilbird was pecking at it.

Italy was sleeping with his head on Germany's shoulder.

The warm weight was nice, like the feeling of a puppy on your lap. Except it wasn't his lap, it was his shoulder, and it wasn't a puppy- it was Italy.

Italy.

He didn't feel that stab-emotion, he noticed. There was a new, powerful feeling, but it was more- more content. More peaceful.

Germany glanced around the loose circle of nations- all was well.

He gave into the feeling that was tugging at his conciousness and fell asleep.

* * *

Greece was not actually asleep, he was more tired and thinking. The cat on his lap was sleeping for sure; every few seconds he petted it absentmindedly.

Japan was gone.

It was nice to see that others cared, even if it wasn't for that particular nation. Everyone had seemed so strong through- even Italy had gone through some kind of change, even for a while. Even Prussia had helped with things in Germany. Canada was actually visible these days [although Greece was sure that his name had been Amerida or something, maybe he'd changed it].

He felt that he was the only one that hadn't changed. Him, and perhaps Japan, before-

Greece cut off the thought, tensing his left hand. No, he wouldn't think about that, he'd think about something else. Under his right hand the cat let out a purr.

That was right, cats. He'd think about cats. There had been one time when he'd sat on a hill with Japan and talked about cats, and one called Captain Cat, and another time…

* * *

His hand curled around the transmitter in his pocket.

He had a plan for the important kill, but he needed more time. Perhaps the Superior would give him more time if he made another, extra kill- but then again perhaps not. It was a chance he needed to take. Once he'd learned of the bonfire, the plan had been easy to create.

The necessary burning of the land was ready, the nation he would kill was beside him. [Not on his left, that one was the next-next target. Besides, it would be hard to pull off that kill right know- it was leaning on his shoulder.]

No, the nation was on his right, and it was to die soon.

He needed the time.

The nation would die.

* * *

England was not an idiot.

He had good reflexes, even for a country, and his magic helped with foresight- sometimes he could see ahead and know what would happen.

But he never would have foreseen this.

Italy had promised, he'd even written on the contract, Italy had sworn-

Stupid, stupid, he thought dazedly. Italy can't control another's actions. Nobody can. You should've known that, you should've known-

Germany was stabbing Greece-

Stupid, stupid-  
Most nations were asleep. Besides, none of them would've known what to do- how did one act when someone you knew was attacking someone else that you knew?

He was still frozen- what should he do-

Italy was awake and sobbing, pulling at Germany's arm-

Hungary was trying to stop Greece's bleeding-

England could tell that it was too late for a human but Greece was a nation, he would survive-

Germany. Germany was the killer-

Italy sank to his knees and pressed his face into his hands-

What did he know? He had known that Germany was the killer, right?

How could so many nations sleep through this? Why was only Hungary trying to help Greece- for that matter, Greece wasn't responding, why wasn't he responding?

Germany still held the bloody knife-

Why had he trusted Italy?

Germany turned his head toward the brunet nation-

His eyes were not blue. They were red, like Prussia's. What had happened to him? What was-

Something hit him from behind and he slumped to his knees as the world turned black.


	27. Maybe it's not

A/N: Aaaand here it is! Kind of! The promised ship! But not really!

* * *

Korea re-read the article without really processing it. He'd had enough on his mind the first time, but this- this was not something he'd expected from the news. [He usually got news from his boss, but it wasn't like that was an option now.]

He scanned it again, skipping over the bulk of the article to the part that mattered.

… two dead bodies found at the site of a bonfire. This was a coincidence, as the both the countries of Greece and England were burned terribly by fires gone wrong last night. The countries did not ask for assistance and were not offered any, for the fragile peace may …

Korea threw the newspaper, not caring to see where it landed, and flung himself onto the hotel bed.

Greece and England. Had they been killed by that- that murderer? But Italy had promised that it wouldn't happen again [although it wasn't him]. Korea had trusted him, had signed the contract, had believed that it was over.

Had he been wrong to sign that? Had he acted too rashly? It had seemed like a good idea, but…

Maybe he should go see Italy. He usually was with Germany anyway, and Korea was already here…

No. He'd wait a day or two; maybe Italy was busy or something…

Making excuses, he thought. Excuses.

But he'd go in a few days. He would.

* * *

"I saw him!" Hungary shouted for the millionth time. For the millionth time France began to present all the reasons why she was wrong, for the millionth time Germany put his head in his hands, for the millionth time Italy looked like he was about to cry.

Hungary glanced guiltily at Italy and maybe she had at Germany, but Switzerland couldn't tell. Beside him Liechtenstein had her fists clenched and her head bent, the way she did when she was scared. He wanted to do something for her but he didn't know what. It was hard to tell what to do these days.

"He had the knife," Hungary said. Switzerland could hear suppressed anger in her voice. "He stabbed Greece and hit England hard enough to- to…"

"How could he have set the fires?" France said, in the same tone. "You can't just blame him-"

"Maybe he had troops do it!"

"How would they have known to start the fires?" Prussia added.

"He told them to!"

"When did he tell them? If you really saw him stab Greece, then shouldn't you have seen him call?"

"Well, it's not like I can see everything!"

"Then how did you see him stab Greece or hit"- France's voice voice trembled a little- "or hit England?"

"I see some things!"

"Oh, are you seeing fairies now too?" Prussia snarled. Gilbird chirped a little, and Hungary gave it a death-glare as she snapped, "No! Don't be stupid!"

"You're the one that's being an idiot!"

Italy let out a shuddering breath. Germany touched his back- almost tenderly, Switzerland noticed- and said something to him quietly.

Liechtenstein made a soft noise; he turned to his sister. "What is it?"

"The fighting's worse than before," she said quietly. It was hard to make out her voice over the argument.

"They fought all the time before," Switzerland said, leaning back in his chair. "Does it matter now?"

"Yes," she said. "It's like- they have anger in their voices now. Real anger, not just the people-fueled feelings."

He frowned and listened more carefully.

"You're just acting like that because you miss Austria and you don't like Germany-"

"You'd be seeing clearly if you weren't so biased!"

"You don't see clearly either-"

"Oh, I take that back, you never see clearly!"

"Like you ever do, you're so unawesome-"

"I don't want to be awesome if that's what you are-"

She might be right, Switzerland thought. They do sound… furious. More so than before.

"You're right," he said quietly, so Hungary or Prussia or whoever it was that was still arguing wouldn't think he was agreeing. "It does sound different."

"Big brother?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm scared."

"Don't be," he said automatically, even though he wasn't sure if that could be true anymore. Don't be, he repeated to himself, but he didn't comfort himself- or, he thought, Liechtenstein- at all.

* * *

Germany looked carsick on the way back from the emergency meeting.

Italy himself had felt better almost immediately after they'd left the meeting, but Germany kept looking worse. It made him feel guilty- was it his driving?- and he didn't know what to do. Should he speed up to get to the airport faster, or slow down so Germany would feel better?

He kept driving at the same speed and didn't voice any of his thoughts. It wasn't long until they reached the airport and sat down to wait for their flight, not long until they boarded the plane. Germany didn't speak to him at all. Prussia was on a different flight; he had gotten himself a ticket on a better plane and had already left.

Germany wasn't talking and it worried Italy more than he wanted it to. It hurt, physically, and this hurt had nothing to do with his being a country [he'd already checked]. It felt like heartbreak, the way he'd felt for years after he and Romano had been separated, the way he'd felt after Romano and Spain and [to some extent] Austria had died.

Why did he feel it for Germany if Germany was still here? He didn't understand. It was so strong, too.

It hurt.

A few times he started to say something, but every time at the last second, before he opened his mouth, he lost courage and stopped.

When they reached Germany's home not much changed. Dinner was served and eaten in silence, afterwards Germany sat in the living room reading a magazine.

Italy could tell he wasn't paying attention, because he was holding it upside down.

Finally Italy worked up the courage to say something: "Germany-"

"What?"

He didn't even look up from his 'reading' of the magazine. Italy bit his lip and said, "Ger- Germany, good night."

It wasn't what he'd meant to say, wasn't what he'd wanted to say, but he turned and went to his room anyway.

He locked the door and sat on the bed, holding a pillow to his face so he wouldn't hear himself cry.

* * *

For the first time since the long war had started, Germany had free time on his hands.

Free time. Just free time. There were no papers to sign, no documents to look over. They'd already eaten dinner and his yard was tended.

There was nothing for him to do, and he felt lost.

Italy had already gone to bed and Prussia was being Prussia in the basement. The house felt empty without him being around the others- as much as he'd told himself that the Italian was annoying, he had been company. At least company, and maybe something more. It was too quiet without Italy's constant chatter, too empty without the Italian standing beside him, too- too lonely.

Mechanically he went to the kitchen and got himself a beer. It was the last one- Prussia would be angry- but he drank it anyway. Most of it went down in a quick shot.

What would he do? Sleep early? No, although he'd wished for that many times, he didn't feel tired. He was wide awake.

It was too dark to take a walk, and there were no manuals he wanted to read.

He took another drink of the beer, set down the now- empty can, and wandered around the house. His feet seemed to know where they were going, so he just walked to nowhere.

Apparently nowhere was Italy's bedroom.

Germany stopped, hand already on the doorknob. Why had he come here? It was like the route was familiar, but he hadn't come here in ages. At the very least, not since before WW2. Italy had come to his room, not the other way around…

What was the harm? he asked himself. If Italy was sleeping, he'd just be quiet.

He went in, as quietly as he could, and sat in the chair next to Italy's bed. The chair protested a bit when he sat in it, creaking just a little. Germany winced.

Italy turned over [when had he become such a light sleeper?! Germany asked himself]. There was a soft half-smile on his face. "Ve~ Germany, you're here again," he said.

Here again? That didn't make sense. He hadn't been here in ages. He hadn't. He'd only woken up here a few times.

Wait…

"You haven't come in a long time," Italy continued. "I kinda missed you."

"I- Italy, are you…" Germany trailed off. "I haven't been here before. Not since you came." Not as myself, at any rate, and you were always out of the room by then…

"Yes, you have," Italy said, still sleepily. "You used to come most nights and watch me sleep. And then you'd leave." He let out a little laugh. "I was always awake when you came. I can't sleep so well on my own~"

Not me, not me, it was him! Him!

"Italy, that wasn't me."

"No, what are you talking about, Germany? Of course it was you. There's almost nobody else in this house."

It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it was that- that mind, how could you have forgotten, Italy?

The smaller nation tilted his head. "Germany, are you all right?"

"No." The syllable escaped his lips before he could restrain himself.

"Oh, Germany-"

And Italy sat up and leaned towards him and hugged him.

Germany was unable to speak, unable to move- he could only feel Italy's warmth- the other mind was pulling at him- he couldn't do anything-

Something warm as Italy was sliding down his cheeks-

"Germany," Italy whispered, "don't cry."

The other mind suddenly let go, releasing its hold with something like a soft sigh. He could move again.

He bit his lip and then let himself hug Italy back.

Italy smiled.

He didn't feel so lonely anymore.

* * *

A/N 2: Muahahaha… things are going to be fun~

At any rate, I'm moving later today, so I may lose internet for a while. But enjoy the chapter!


	28. Simple and Clean

He was nearly ready. The last of his troops had reached their stations, and were setting up fire preparations- they would be ready by tomorrow. Hungary had been 'convinced' that she hadn't seen anything, so she would not be too guarded. Everything was nearly perfect- as close to perfect as Earth came.

He drummed his fingers on the armrest of his body's study. There was a feeling of… what was it? Anticipation, yes, that- that driving feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was ready, he was so ready, but his troops were not. Tomorrow, though- tomorrow, everything would be ready. The whole operation would be simple and clean. The Superior would have his kill.

* * *

Germany went through the next day in a kind of daze. It was good that there wasn't much for him to do, because he would've messed it up. One thought- one name- was repeating in his head.

Italy Italy Italy Italy Italy…

The smaller nation's name brought a warm feeling with it, the same one he'd felt when they'd hugged. It had been his first hug in a long, long time.

Warmth… Italy… Italy Italy Italy…

Italy…

* * *

Korea was being lazy.

He even admitted it to himself- why wait around and re-watch variety shows when he was supposed to be visiting Italy and Germany? Why sit around and argue with himself [why go to a nation's house, why not go back home, why not never go back, why why why] when he was supposed to be doing something? He had to go back at some point, but he was already here, so shouldn't he visit Germany and Italy?

He didn't know, he didn't know. Maybe he wasn't being lazy. Maybe he was just undecided.

But he knew in some deep part of his heart that he was going to visit and then return. That he was going to apologize to China and maybe visit Japan's grave. That he was really sorry for causing pain, whatever pain that was.

* * *

Italy was also dazed, but in a slightly different way. He, too, was thinking one thought, but it was not a name. It was more of a feeling than a thought.

Happiness.

Italy was happy. He was no longer lonely or afraid, and he was painting again for the first time in long years. The brush in his hand was steady, he remembered how to do this, and he was… satisfied. Even though what he was painting was quite simple, it made him content, because it was what he loved. It was an old passion awake again.

He smiled and hummed a bit of a song as he finished his piece. It was the world- most of it, anyway, he didn't know all the nations- holding hands in a circle. The style wasn't quite what he was used to, but it was nice for getting back 'into it', and he liked the effect. It was simple and clean.

He liked it. Especially the three of them he'd painted together- Italy, Germany and Japan were now holding hands once more, and they would not have to let go again.

* * *

A/N: Choppy, short, simple and clean. KH fans should know the song Simple and Clean. It's the song I think Italy hums when painting- ww watc h?v=YbjQqW FxbaM

Undo the spaces and copy it into your browser. The cover image is also the style that Italy paints everyone in. It's like the inspiration for the chapter~


End file.
